


Melandru Willing (Spicy Cat Adventure)

by Mimiga



Series: Melandru Willing [1]
Category: Guild Wars (Video Game), Guild Wars 2 (Video Game)
Genre: Ascalon (Guild Wars), Dervish - Freeform, F/M, Rival Sex, Rivalry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-08
Updated: 2020-05-22
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:34:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 28,954
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24069697
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mimiga/pseuds/Mimiga
Summary: Dhamon Matthews is your ordinary neighborhood acolyte-in-training of an ancient order that was nearly removed from the face of the planet by a very salty lich. He gets sent by his master on a quest to the charr-infested lands of Ascalon, where he is roped up by the Spire warband in their very mundane job of staring at a wall twenty-four hours a day seven days a week. One of the charr, a very angry, very short cat with small-dog syndrome named Maeve Sunspire, very much hates the fact that this human isn't a total piece of garbage. They fuck in chapter 6.
Relationships: Male Human/Female Charr
Series: Melandru Willing [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2060535
Comments: 2
Kudos: 24





	1. Chapter 1

Some of the roads outside Divinity's Reach were rutted with wagon tracks. Some were staked with bandits, waiting patiently for their haul to come riding up on a silver platter. Some were overgrown and underused, teeming with dangerous wildlife and untamed foliage. This one wasn't any of those. 

A Seraph grunt made his way down the path some foggy morning of late spring. At the top of his list of chores and at the bottom of his bag was a summons to be delivered. He had never been to this side of the territory before, and while his idle thoughts took him on a journey to match his march, wondered why anyone would decide to settle down this far out of the way. It didn't matter much to him, though. Just wondering. 

He came to a grove of cedar trees before too long. A passage twisted off the main road and winded up a hill, which he now had the displeasure of climbing. At the peak, a small cottage stood amid the wilderness. Smoke poured steadily from its chimney. Perhaps he could stay a while and ask for some tea? No, perhaps not. There were still many places to be today. Time was not a luxury for him. 

Finally having crested the worst of the hill, the Seraph approached the sturdy door and gave it a few knocks. A few silent seconds eventually transitioned into some distant shuffling. The man who opened the door was very young--couldn't have been older than low twenties. His sandy hair and tan skin gave him a distinct krytan tone, and the intricate robes he wore flowed all the down to his ankles. Some monk, perhaps? Ah, it was none of his business. 

"Summons for a Mr. Guinn," the Seraph prattled off as he dug his gloved hands into his messenger bag. "Don't know what it's about, but it's got the captain's seal onnit, so it's somethin' important." 

The man took the letter with both hands, giving the Seraph a curt nod and turning away without a single word. Had to have been some kinda monk. Only monks end up getting that weird. As the door shut behind him, the messenger adjusted his armor to alleviate some of the chafe and went back the way he came. Wish they'd given him some tea, though. 

Inside the cottage, the young man sighed through his nose and wandered back towards the fire, flipping the letter through his fingers. It was too early in the morning for news like this. As if the captain would ever send his master on anything important. 

"More busywork, Dhamon?" a deep, croaking voice said. His master stood up from his seat in front of the flames. In the flickering light, his weathered features seemed even more pronounced, shadows dancing freely across his half-elonian skin. Stroking his beard with one hand, he extended his other. "Hand it over. Let's see what the damages are this time." 

His old fingers tore at the seal and unfolded the parchment. His eyes scanned the cursive writing with a glint of annoyance. Dhamon took the opportunity to have a swig of his tea, which still hadn't cooled down enough to be comfortable. Clicking his burned tongue, the pupil took his place by the warmth. "If you leave today, we should go over my routine to follow while you're gone. I don't want to fall behind like last time." 

A murmur rumbled in his master's throat. He hummed again a few cracks of the fire later, but the second sounded more like disappointment than just idle acknowledgement. "The centaur have started a campaign up north, it seems. Most of the Seraph have been pulled from their posts in other regions to bolster against that. Apparently the captain's seen fit to send me to Ascalon in place of the actual squad that was meant to go. I admit that I'm flattered they think I'm worth at least six men." 

"Figures," Dhamon muttered, then blew across the surface of his tea with the rest of the breath. "Why Ascalon, though? What business did the Seraph have with the charr?" 

The paper crinkled as he read further. "It appears that the original duty was to protect a defensive encampment along the Great Wall. I know not why our own soldiers would go so far out of their way to do such a thing, and it says nothing on the fact. If I had to venture a guess, it might have something to do with maintaining the tenuous peace we have with them." 

"What a waste of time. They still have no idea how to make use of your skills." 

"Dhamon," his master boomed. 

He bowed his head, but there was too much truth in his words to regret having said them. There was always one meaningless task or another that the big-wigs in Divinity's Reach wanted some foot soldier to do. Too often did those tasks fall on their shoulders simply because they were seen as a resource and nothing more. Names and numbers written in a logbook. 

"I know what you're thinking," the old man started to say, carefully setting the orders down onto the end table. "You need not say it. There is a price to everything, and this duty is ours to pay. Even if the earth beneath our feet belongs to Melandru alone, it is the territory of something greater still than us alone. The skelk that stalks rabbits knows not to cause an uproar in the domain of the griffon." 

"Yes, master." Dhamon took another sip of his tea. Still too hot, though only because his tongue was sensitive to it now. 

The floorboards creaked behind him as his master began to pace back and forth, his footsteps slow and rhythmic. Something had gotten him thinking. Perhaps it was about the strict regimine Dhamon would be on while this pointless mission was underway? What lessons could be taught without a tutor present to teach them? 

"...Perhaps this is an opportunity for growth," the old man eventually said. He wandered over to the summons, picked them back up, and immediately handed them to his pupil. "You shall go." 

"I-," The cup that was just about to hit his lips spilled slightly on his robes instead. Dhamon looked at the letter in confusion. "What do you mean? Is it not orders for you?" 

"It is, but the system is as uncaring as you believe it to be. As long as someone goes, with my permission, it will not matter." His master's eyes already narrow eyes went even thinner, a sly smile working its way across his face. "You have already been under my tutilige for quite a while, Dhamon. There is only so much you can gain from mediation and practice alone. The time has come for you to undertake a matter without my guidance. Consider it a test." 

The acolyte set his tea aside before he could spill anymore of it. "Master, are you certain about this? The most I've done in actual combat was fend off a handful of harpies before you had arrived! What if I'm not strong enough to hold my own in your place?" 

The steadiest hand to have ever belonged to someone of such age was planted firmly on his shoulder. "My boy, have some confidence. And have some faith in the gods who watch over you while you're at it. I know that this may seem intimidating at first, but you are one of the brighter pupils I've had in my time. This will come naturally to you in time. There is only the matter of taking the first step." 

It wasn't exactly the matter of it being a test that really got under his skin. He could assuredly perform most tasks the Seraph would want of him. But going to Ascalon and being onset by mangy beasts and phantoms from all angles? It was less a difficult task as it was just exceedingly dreadful. But if it was what his master wanted, and perhaps provided him some lessons in patience... 

Dhamon lowered the letter to his knees, glaring into the dancing flames. "Yes, master. Of course."


	2. Chapter 2

Even in its state of complete disrepair, what remained of the Great Northern Wall of Ascalon was still utterly breathtaking to behold. Crumbling fragments of the structure stood in spite of both time and war, covering a third of the sky with its presence alone. How it was that the Ascalonians of so long ago managed to construct such a mighty monolith, and while waging war no less, was beyond understanding. Even if it didn't protect them until the end, the land was still split down the middle centuries later. 

Dhamon couldn't help but gawk at the wall as he followed in the old tracks of what appeared to be a massive wheeled machine. When his eyes weren't drawn to the stalwart monument, he found himself at peace along the sides of the road, taking in the beauty of Ascalon as it rolled into a verdant summer. Entire fields of the land's famous red iris flowers bloomed with a startling vibrance, though they thinned out a bit beneath the wide branches of the oaks. He had honestly expected the charr to have scarred the earth beyond repair. Though there were certainly a couple rough spots between where the caravan had dropped him off and here, but aside from them and the smog that dimmed the horizons, it seemed that a lot of the nature here was relatively intact. 

Yes, he could sense it quite well. Melandru's grasp on this place was firm as ever. How else could it have recovered from The Searing, or endure the torture that these monsters regularly put it through? His master taught him of these sins very early on, but they remained fresh in his memory. 

The outpost he was searching for ended up being quite a walk from where he had began. Apparently due west of the original breach in the wall, Dhamon caught on the eyesore of dark metal against the greens and reds. Iron barriers jutted from the landscape at the top of a small hill, obscuring and protecting a couple makeshift buildings within. Beyond the hill and leading all the way up to where the nearest fallen ascalonian laid were obvious signs of past conflicts. The terrain was dotted with exploded ditches and spent mortal shells, and what little vegetation dared to grow in such a place did so rather meekly. 

He felt very out of place, climbing alone up the side of that hill in the dried mud footsteps of creatures twice his size. Legion charr supposedly didn't typically attack humans these days, and the organized bands he passed on the way here seemed to adhere to that theory, but it felt different now. The weight of the glaive that bounced on his back gave him at least some reassurance. 

Upon cresting the hill and stepping between the iron barricades, he saw the first of the inhabitants of the outpost. The charr's fur was a cloudy grey, blending partially in with the metal clasps on their half-plate armor. They had been idly leaning against a pole when he appeared. Even with their face as foreign to him as it was, confusion was a fairly universal expression to pick up. 

"What..." they sleepily began, their voice gruff but with a slight feminine edge. At least, it kind of sounded like it could've been a female. "What the hell'r you doing out here for?" 

Dhamon felt for the pouch that hung from the back of his robes. "I was sent by the Seraph to assist in protecting this establishment. At least, that's what they told me I was doing. This IS the right place, correct?" He drew the official papers that a captain probably would've, presenting them as he begrudgingly approached the beast. 

The charr didn't even bother to spare a glance at the orders, instead twisting her head towards the center of the outpost. "Hey! Rammus! Th' help's showed up! One of 'em has, anyways!" 

A couple moments later, a larger charr emerged from inside one of the patchwork steel buildings. It was immediately much easier to distinguish that they were male. If the stockiness and general enormity didn't give it away, it was the deep rumble of their grunt as they waddled towards them. 

"You're with the Seraph, then?" said the brown-furred charr with a surprisingly cheery inflection. "Ah, I see those papers now. Good! Maybe some of us can actually get some breaks around here. Where's the rest of your unit? Leave 'em behind?" 

The acolyte shook his head beneath his hood. "I'm the only one they sent. There's been some issues with the centaur attacking Queensdale lands, apparently. They're scrounging up every trooper they have to defend it." 

The grey char snickered. "Seriously? They sent us one guy? You're jokin' us, right?" 

Rammus, as his name apparently was, took the orders from the acolyte and squinted over them. "Aw shit, he ain't joking. They took back our reinforcements Divinity's Reach promised us and gave us one as some sorta sick apology. Psh!" He ripped through the papers with his enormous claws and sent them into the wind. "Might as well have not sent anyone at all! This is just a kick in the balls!" 

"That's what I was saying," Dhamon readily agreed. 

The grey charr yawned. "Well. Yer here now, I guess. One ov'us is gettin' a break at some point. Show 'im around already, will ya? I've been 'ere since dawn. Ain't no ghosts ever show up at noon." 

"Fine, fine! Quit your yakking!" With a slight bow of his head, Rammus extended his hand to the ramshackle base. "Now that you're stuck here, welcome to our little island next to hell! We're the Spire warband of the Iron Legion. Our job, as it is right now, is to stare at that goddamn wall all day and blow up any ghosts that try to do anything funny. It's a simple life. I ain't gonna complain." 

He turned his claws towards himself. "I'm Rammus Blackspire. I'm the legionnaire that leads these runts around, and I don't give a damn what you call me. This here's Kalla Stonespire. She's decent with guns and even better with bombs, but she prefers to a more straightforward approach to killing. You're not gonna have any problems with her so long as you keep outta her way. Her 'way' tends to be the straight line between her and a roast, so keep that in mind." 

"Bitch," Kalla promptly replied. 

"You'll find Markus Starkspire somewhere around here," Rammus continued as he began to wander deeper into the encampment. Dhamon looked briefly back at the red irises before he plunged deeper into his fate. "Thick, back-pointing curved horns. Spotted pattern on his reddish fur. Dumb-lookin' face. Can't miss the guy. He's all about salvaging and repair, and he don't talk much. I thought I saw him about a bit earlier, but he's night shift so he's probably hit the sack by now." 

Dhamon was led past the metallic buildings, through a stockpile of ammunition and spare parts, and out the other side facing towards the wall. The carnage that had rained down from this hill became readily apparent. You could even see the the maximum range of their mortal launchers by looking at the distant curve of the farthest holes. Were the specters of Ascalon really such a problem that they had to lay waste to this much of the area? 

There was one more charr in the warband he hadn't met yet. She, or at least they were short and lithe enough to appear like a female, were guarding the opposite post on the other end of the outpost. Their fur was a shade of bronze, black stripes slicing over her contours and tapering off near her face. Her face, in particular, drew the most attention from him, as not only were her eyes strikingly yellow in color, but they were directed straight at him, and they certainly weren't friendly in the slightest. That was the predatory glare he had originally expected to see. 

"Who the fuck's that?" the guard said before Rammus was even finished explaining where the armaments were located. 

The legionnaire snorted. "Our 'help' that the humans sent us. By the way, that's Maeve Sunspire. She isn't going to like you." 

That much was evident. Maeve's pupils narrowed as she shifted her gaze back to the acolyte. "They sent us a single human? A single human in a dress, wielding a weapon on foot meant for those riding on war beasts? Is that what you're trying to tell me?" 

"I'm Dhamon Matthews," he gave a small bow out of respect, but there was no way in hell he was getting anywhere near that thing to shake its hand. "It's true. The Seraph sent only me to this post instead of the squad it originally was meant to recieve. And I've been personally trained for use of this weapon, so there's no need to supplement me with another." 

"Fuck..." hissed the guard towards the sky, closing her eyes in disbelief. 

Rammus coughed into his hand. "Yeah, Maeve. I know. Don't get your mane in a twist. It's a kick in the balls alright, but since someone actually showed up we might as well use 'em. We can get command to throw a shitshow for the Seraph when we get around to it. In the meantime, we got another body to move and I ain't gonna waste it out of spite." 

A rumbling deep in the charr's throat, Maeve just shook her head. "So what the fuck do you even do? Are you some kind of mage or something? Is that polearm your catalyst? There's gotta be a reason they sent you specifically, and not just that you lost a bet." 

Now that was something he could proudly answer. "You're right about that, too. I'm the current pupil of an ancient elonian order of warriors and priests. There aren't many left these days since the lich Palawa Joko took rule over the south. My master in particular is a devout priest of Melandru, and thusly I have been taught to harness the righteous wrath of the earth." 

Maeve stared at him. One moment passed, then another slowly ebbed away. She blinked, threw her sword to the ground, and started towards the center of the outpost. "I'm done. This is a fucking joke and I'm done. You can't make me put up with this shit, Rammus. Throw me to the gladiums, I don't give a damn." 

A pregnant pause filled the air as both Dhamon and the legionnaire watched the charr's back as she stormed away. What could you even say after something like that? It only reinforced the idea that this whole mission was a complete and total waste of time, in addition to the fact that his master--someone of extremely high skill and regard--was supposed to be the one out here babysitting these flea-bitten cats. 

"You know," Rammus broke the silence, clicking his tongue. "When I said that she wasn't gonna like you, I meant that she doesn't like anybody, and especially humans. What I didn't mean for you to figure out was that she also hates the shit out of human faith. I'm kinda impressed at this point, actually. You're the perfect storm of things that piss that girl off, and you're the only one they sent. Couldn't have asked for a better joke." 

Dhamon crossed his arms. "My training is not a joke." 

"Oh I believe you!" A huge hand came and slapped him on the back, nearly sending him tumbling forward in the process. "She don't, but I do. I've seen you priest types work your magic before and it's some damn good stuff. Just gotta get the gods on a good day. Sooo..." He glanced over at the straight sword that had been carelessly tossed to the dirt. "Introductions are over. I guess you're gonna be on this post for now, considering the position's just opened up. Holler if you see those transparent bastards grouping up, and try not to let Maeve get under your skin too bad!" 

  


_____

Meditation wasn't so bad. It always started rather difficult, but once your limbs numbed out it was generally a pleasant, enlightening experience. Nature had a lot to offer if contemplated on. Dhamon had no qualms with it at all. What he discovered he did have qualms with, however, was guard duties. 

He underestimated just how challenging it was to do something as simple as stand in one place and stare off into the distance. The first hour went by without much troubles considering how much he had to mentally digest. The second definitely dragged on much worse, and by that point he had run out of conversations to have with himself inside of his own head. When the third came, he was practically watching the shadow of the Great Wall inch along as the sun slipped further down the sky. And because the duty implied constant vigilance, he couldn't even choose to meditate even if he wanted to. Now he understood why Kalla looked like she had been asleep with her eyes open. She probably was. 

The sun had nearly dipped below the wall when something finally happened. It was hard to see at first, but flickers of blue began to appear on the far end of the devastation. Soon enough, entire figures started to manifest from the wisps. There was two of them--maybe three, if his eyes weren't playing tricks on him out of boredom. While it didn't seem like something to immediately worry about, judging from the firepower being used around here, he probably shouldn't take any chances. Dhamon took the opportunity to call out to the warband. 

The charr that answered his call was the one he hadn't seen yet. He was the biggest yet, though not by a huge margin. His horns curved downwards and past the side of his admittedly strange-looking face. Markus said nothing to the acolyte at first. He blinked at the distant spectres, sniffed, and drew his rifle from its holster. 

"Slow day," Markus grumbled as he examined his gun. "You the prank?" 

"I suppose I am," Dhamon replied, pulling his glaive from his back now that someone else had seen fit to be armed. 

"Hah. Maeve's been sulking. Nice work." 

Before long, the others started to shamble out of the outpost. Rammus emerged when Markus didn't return from the call. Kalla, whose messy mane gave the impression that she actually had been asleep minutes ago, came shortly after. With everyone else at the gates, Maeve begrudgingly joined them to not be left out, though she refused to look at the human. 

Rammus scratched his chin. "Yep, that's a couple of the bastards alright. Not exactly threatening like they are, but you gotta nip 'em in the bud before a whole bunch of them start to manifest. 'S why we're stationed here at all. They're almost harmless alone, but when a lot of 'em are together they start goin' through their old war formations and gettin' organized. That's when it becomes a problem." 

"I seen'm build a catapult from scratch before," said Kalla with a snort. "Nearly took out three charr before we could smash it." 

"There's barely enough out there to warrant getting off my ass," Maeve added. 

Just as Markus started to hoddle towards one of the mortar launchers, Rammus raised a claw to stop him. "Don't even bother. It's a waste of ammo. We can just go down there and take care of 'em real quick. 

Down there? In the goddamn war zone? Dhamon tapped the hilt of his glaive against the ground. "Are you sure there aren't unspent mortars down? I'd prefer my legs not to be blown off this evening." 

"Just fucking put your legs back on with your magic, then," Maeve spat. She drew a different sword from earlier, then somehow came up with a dagger in her other hand, wielding them both underhanded. 

Kalla chuckled. "We check every morning. There's not. Usually. I'd wanna see ya stick yer legs back on, though." 

"What do you mean?" Markus loaded a round into his rifle, but he was looking straight at Dhamon the whole time. "What's it you do, then? They send us a healer for once?" 

It was Rammus that answered first. "I dunno. He's some kinda monk-type of whatever order. Meladune, was that your god? Does she do wounds?" 

"Melandru," said Dhamon. "Sometimes." 

It was strange to see a charr's face light up as much as Markus' did right then. He wasn't even aware they could look like that. "If you're holding a polearm like that, does that mean you're supposed to be a dervish?" 

"Uh-" Dhamon didn't expect that kind of accuracy. He barely heard other humans call his profession by its old name, much less a beast like this. "...Yes. Yes, I am. How did you know that?" 

"Ooh! When I did some stupid stuff as a kid and became a gladium, I joined the Durmand Priory for a few years!" It was like another person had stepped into the body of this charr. Markus' whole expression went from droopy to tight in less than a second. His voice had gotten higher-pitched, as well. "I rememeber getting into an argument about whether the Sunspear Order at its peak might've been able to take on the shamanic legions two hundred years ago. That argument turned into a whole paper which ended up getting published later on. I remember having to distinguish between a Sunspear Order before the popularization of dervishes and the legions before the fall of Orr." 

"Oh great," muttered Kalla. "Now you got 'im started. Good luck turnin' 'im off." 

Maeve growled and slammed her blades together. "Focus up! Now there's four of them out there!" 

The others checked their arms, loaded their guns, filled their ammo pouches--did everything they were meant to do. Dhamon, on the other hand, had more unique matters to attend to before battles. He propped his glaive up against the iron wall behind him, put his hands together before his chest, bowed his head, and closed his eyes. From the tip of his tongue came a slew of quick prayers and chants, rolling through his blessings without a stutter or stop. They were so ingrained into him that he might not even have remembered the words if he thought about it too hard. When the wind started to caress his robes, that's when he knew that his plea had been heard. 

"Wait." Just before the five of them were about to start down the hill, Maeve abruptly stopped them. She turned a cruel eye over to the acolyte and smiled. "You know what? It's not a big group. It'd be overkill if we all went down there and blew them to pieces. Maybe we should let the help handle it himself. See what he's made out of, you know?" 

"Oooh no. You're not trying to get another human killed, are you Maeve? They stop sending us them at all if you do that," Rammus said with a shake of his head. 

She gave a shrug, but her actual intentions weren't too difficult to discern. "If it gets too hairy, we can go down there and help. Or, if he's a lost cause, we can drop bombshells on him while the ghosts are kicking his corpse. Simple as that." 

The sideways smirk that the charr shot Dhamon pissed him off to no end. The mark of a true warrior was to remain calm and collected, of course, but that didn't mean interally he didn't want to smash that mangy beast in the side of the head. The acolyte exhaled and grabbed at his glaive with both hands. Melandru was already with him. How could a couple wayward spectres fare against that? 

"Very well," Dhamon said, much to the surprise of the other charr. Even Maeve seemed to be taken aback by how quickly he agreed, though she did everything in her power to hide it. "Wait here, then. I'll show you the fruits of my devotion. Just try not to blink and miss it." 

The acolyte carefully descended the side of the hill and hopped into the field of carnage. He felt the warband's gaze burn into his back as he skipped between the holes and around shrapnel hunks. The sun's glare left his eyes as he entered the shadow of the Wall, taking its warmth with it. Cold winds blew from the direction of the phantoms. Gripping his glaive, he thanked the gods for their protection and quickened his pace towards his foes. 

As soon as he came within about fifteen meters, the ghosts recognized him as a threat and manifested fully, their glowing silhouettes sharpening into armor spines and broadswords. The warcries they bellowed echoed across the countryside like a siren. Four footmen turned their blades towards him like he was a charr of ages past and charged across the battlefield. 

Dhamon had never turned his blade upon a man before. While these abominations were unquestionably well beyond the living, he still had to stifle a pang of apprehension as he widened his stance. 

Now, use what was taught to you. Inhale. Hold the breath within yourself. Close your eyes, and let the gravity of those words yet to be born tie you to the earth. Feel the dust and dirt kick at your heels, ready to obey the commands you give it in a moment's notice. This was the will that Melandru gave to you. 

Dhamon opened his eyes to the ghostly soldier that lead the charge. He held his weapon aloft and shouted a flurry of incantations. In an instant, that subtle breeze around him erupted into a whirlwind. The loose dirt that had been upturned by the bombings surged upwards and joined in, flowing counter-clockwise with the spell. The soldier tried to mindlessly wade through the sandstorm, stumbled, and was slashed across the chest by a sweep of his blade. The weight of the glaive felt perfect in his hands, especially so with the wind to guide it. 

The other three soldiers advanced in the same way. To avoid being flanked, Dhamon was forced to retreat a few steps. He had immediately underestimated the tenacity of the ghosts, however. The one he had wounded lunged forward and attempted to run his blade straight through the acolyte. A graceful step to the side ensured that no such thing occurred, and a broadside bash to the side of the ghost's helmet sent it back down into the storm. That failed attack still gave its comrades enough initiative to descend upon him from three different sides. 

The protective sandstorm slowed the ghosts down long enough for Dhamon to readjust his stance. He stomped forward, positioned the glaive above his head, and twirled with the force of the wind. His blade met with little resistance as it cleaved through the three targets. One had been completely dissipated, its neck torn asunder, while the other two were much too badly injured to continue forward. Flowing through with the same motion as the spin, the acolyte stepped forward and landed a kick square into stomach of the ghost on his left. 

Then Dhamon jinxed it. Just when he was about to think that this wasn't so bad, an ephemeral arrow sailed through the air and collided with the shield of force that he had surrounded himself with. If not for that earlier prayer, it would've certainly penetrated his shoulder. He glanced up from the incapacitated foes around him and saw another ten were on their way. Archers notched their arrows. Footmen raised their shields. In the far back, mages steadied their staves. He'd already pushed his luck far enough with three enemies. This wasn't going to work at all. 

He heard the shouts of the warband behind him, but ghostly yells and howling arrows overtook the sound completely. Dhamon gasped out a prayer and pulled the sandstorm closer to him, willing the winds to climb up his body and obscure him. One of the soldiers he wounded and two more fresh ones came at him like a pack of hungry hounds. The dust shimmered in response to the threat, refracting his image in confusing ways, feigning movements that had never even begun happening. Whatever combat reflexes these trapped souls had left fell for the trick and started to swing in wayward directions. 

The acolyte took advantage of the diversion and swept at the ghosts. He swung his body with a desperately-maintained grace, slashing at the legs and throats of his foes in one continuous motion. For every successful sweep, another two were blocked by ethereal shields. For every stab diverted, several more aimed true and scarcely missed his center of mass. It was getting harder to control his own breathing. Another arrow whizzed by his head. An entire fireball smashed into the ground behind him. This wasn't sustainable at all. 

A resounding bang exploded throughout the countryside and rang in Dhamon's ears. The head of one of the soldiers that was upon him burst out the back, a bullet sailing straight through their helmet. In the chaos, he managed to dance to the side and bury the upper edge of his blade between the seams of another ghost's armor. The final phantom raised their blade high to come down on the acolyte, but was torn asunder by another two musket balls. Rammus hollered with glee in the background. 

Clattering of metal on metal was the signal that Kalla had run ahead of him. The shield she carried must have weight at least a hundred pounds on its own, and it had not trouble whatsoever deflecting the arrows that were launched at her. Not to be outdone, Dhamon yanked his weapon free from the dissipating ghost and let the whirlwind soften, charging across the uneven landscape with a holy breeze at his back. 

The only targets left were the two mages in the far field. He had to dodge the streams of spectral fire they launched at him, slowing his advance to a crawl. His eyes were trained so intently on the flames that he could barely catch a glimpse of a black flicker that burst from the shadows ahead. Maeve flung herself at one of the mages on all fours, not even stopping as the ghost's expression turned to utter horror. Her blades flashed through the air with a striking elegance despite her savage appearance. The ascalonian didn't stand a chance. 

There was still the matter of the second mage. Maeve had her back turned when the ghost had raised its staff. Dhamon was about to call out to her, but she whipped around in a frenzy and dodged the fireball outright. That was when he witnessed the maximum sprinting speed of a charr in light armor, and knew that he would have nightmares of one chasing him down in an open plain. 

To the mage's credit, it had the foresight to shroud itself in a burning enchantment in the hopes that it could ward Maeve off. That was all it had time to do. The charr stuck a claw directly into the aura of flames and effortlessly ripped through the fabric of the magic, almost like she were disassembling a thick cobweb. With its protection utterly dismantled, it was slain shortly after. 

"...That's the last of 'em!" Rammus shouted with a loud cock of his gun. The archers had apparently been riddled with holes and beaten by Kalla's mace while he'd been watching Maeve. 

Sighing with effort, Dhamon let the weight of his magicks roll off of his shoulders, the miniature sandstorm peetering out into a spiral of dust around him. He'd never held that spell for so long before. His legs and arms felt like they were turned to jelly, and his weapon felt twice as heavy in his hands now than when he started. It made it all the more difficult to keep standing when a huge hand slapped him on the back once more. 

"Haha! What th' hell even are you?" Kalla windily remarked, her gauntlets adding an unnecessary amount of force to the gesture. "Some kinda monster! Ya fight like a mandragor!" 

Markus grunted and loaded a couple extra rounds into his rifle. "Some mandragor use similar magicks. That's why." 

A bellowing laugh rang out over the landscape. Rammus approached and applauded with the side of his gun. He motioned to place a hand on the acolytes shoulder, but shrugged when he winced away from yet another painful show of camaraderie. 

"Gotta say! If you were one of the normal guys they send us, you wouldn'ta lasted more than ten seconds out there. Glad to know that you ain't a waste of space despite bein' the butt of a joke! Couldn't have done that better myself!" 

Dhamon's careful breathing patterns had totally abandoned as he wheezed for air. Now that the adrenaline was fading, there was definitely a glimmer of pride in his eye. He did handle that damn well, didn't he? "Thanks. Wouldn't have lasted forever against them, but I guess it was enough." 

He turned his head and caught the brunt of Maeve's glare. The way she brandished her blades made him think that she wanted them in his gullet instead of in her hands. Considering what he had just seen the charr do, a shudder threatened to run down his back. He puffed out his chest a bit instead. 

"Well? Were the blessing of Melandru as worthless as you thought they would be?" 

No words left her lips. She lowered her gaze and began to walk back to the outpost, a slight ectoplasmic glow still splattered across her leather chestplate. When she passed him, a snarl left her mouth. 

"You're lucky we saved your ass at all. Don't go around thinking you're tough shit just because you danced around a few grunts. If I were you, I'd keep your mouth shut." 

In any other circumstance, Dhamon would've probably been terrified. Yet there was something about being around the other three charr that instilled some sort of...some sort off...Companionship was a bit too far. Was it confidence? Whatever it was, it was enough that he didn't pay much mind the rabid beast that he'd just seen run faster than a pack of raptors. 

Using that temporary power, he gave a sarcastic bow. "Remember to stop by next week for my next sermon!" 

He got a laugh out of Rammus. That was enough for him.


	3. Chapter 3

The rays of the sun bathed the land in its warmth, granting life the spark it needed to grow. Northern winds washed over it, germinating life's seeds in foreign soil and spreading itself even further. The earth, ever-willing to accept these newcomers, welcomes her children with open arms and invites them into herself. Thus, the mountainsides poured out over the valley, swathed in crimson blooms and... 

CLANK. CLANK. CLANK. 

...And the emerald sheen of... 

CLANK. CLANK. "Ow! Fuck!" 

...It was fucking impossible to meditate here. 

Dhamon opened his eyes to the bleak reality of the metal fortress he'd been trapped inside. While seeing Markus clutching at his finger was amusing, it didn't bring him any closer to Melandru's grace, and he was very much starting to miss it. 

Time at this outpost tends to move agonizingly slowly. Hours dragged by without so much as a flicker of excitement. The charr had adjusted to this life fairly well, tinkering and training and sleeping at their own pace. Dhamon felt like his head was going to explode midway through the second day. Meditation was out of the question. He'd already gone over all his prayers and incantations twice now. He had stretched, exercised, and practiced his stances by the time it was noon. If his master hadn't been pressing something into him that day then he would've been inside for a cup of tea by now. Instead, he was sitting cross-legged on the ground watching a charr smash their own fingers. 

Lunch couldn't have come sooner. Supply had come earlier that morning while Dhamon was attempting to sleep in the cold dungeon they had the tenacity to call a barracks. Rations were high, morale was good, and they had apparently been brought a whole goddamn pig. Would've fed a whole village for a couple days, surely. These beasts will tear through the thing in less than an afternoon. He couldn't deny that the smell was pretty incredible, though. Rammus was the best cook in the group, and the mouth-watering scents that drifted through the encampment made the wait all the more difficult. 

Before long, the whole warband had abandoned their posts and naps to prepare for the feast. There really weren't that many ghosts appearing this early in the day, so there wouldn't be much harm done. It's not like they weren't six feet from a firearm or explosive at all times. It would take a much bigger, much more important job to keep these beasts away from that meat. 

"Will you hurry it up?!" Maeve shouted for all the world to hear, staring hungrily at the spit. 

"I can't make meat cook faster just because you want me to!" replied Rammus somewhat regretfully, as if desperately wishing he could. 

The pig hadn't been the only boon delivered by the supply caravan. Aside from ammunition and parts, there was big crate of hardtack and a couple other weird bits of indiscernible foodstuff he might not have wanted to know the origin of. Dhamon briefly thought of how interesting it was that these creatures could even digest something like hardtack. His mouth started to water at the smell again, quickly making him forget. 

In the end, Dhamon only managed to get a small section of hind leg on the metal plate he'd been given. Kalla must've claimed half the damn pig by the time she was done. Maeve seemed just as ravenous but only took about a plate and a half of what the acolyte had. Rammus, as the chef, had already taken his share before anyone was even given a chance. Surprisingly, Markus was last to the punch, but he was the least excited about the pig in general, stating that he preferred beef over all. 

There were no forks. The acolyte realized that as he glanced around and saw that the charr simply didn't need them, as having two-inch long claws and razor teeth did the job just as well. Ah well. This was going to be a messy process, but damn was he hungry. 

"Saw some skale," Kalla idly remarked between her massive bites, essentially inhaling the pork. "They're jus' out east. Haven't even seen any caravans all day, jus' some stinkin' skale. Would kill for some trouble right 'bout now." 

"Dammit, Kalla! Not the skale again!" Maeve shouted. 

"'S only like, two or three this time! I woulda said somethin' if it were more!" 

Markus sighed out his nose. "Remember when it was only one, Kalla? Or when it was only two? We've been cooking in the open, there's definitely more than two out there! You're never going to get to live that incident down." 

While Dhamon didn't exactly feel at home here, he was at least comfortable enough to feel curious. "...What incident?" 

Chomping down on bone like it were nothing, Markus hummed and raised a claw as if reminded of something. "Hey, human. Weird question. You're using that polearm instead of a real scythe right? What's the reason for that? I can't imagine they wield too similarly." 

"This thing?" The acolyte, intrigued as he was about the infamous 'skale incident', could never in a million years resist the urge to divulge about his master's art. "It's just that you can't find any blacksmiths who know how to balance a warrior's scythe anymore. All you find are farmer's scythes and the like, which really aren't what you're looking for. My master's always used something like this, and so that's how he taught me." 

Markus nodded and licked his lips. "I guess the weapon's only a small portion of the art. You know, there's this interesting rumor about a charr tribe in the far south that got disconnected from the legions generations ago. The legionnaire that lead them specialized in something close to your holy magic, I believe. The whole group started to worship nature once they were cut off for long enough, so it's very likely the same." 

"Wait. You're being serious?" Dhamon nearly had to put his plate down entirely when the charr gave him a genuine nod. The thought of these beasts coming even close to worshiping anything that doesn't scorch the land was completely beyond his wildest dreams. He had thought that there were maybe a couple practitioners of the old ways left, perhaps somewhere in hiding, but a tribe of Charr? Ridiculous. 

"Oh shut the fuck up," Maeve managed to say with a mouthful of meat. "You're gonna ruin my appetite if you keep talking about garbage, Markus." 

For whatever reason, Dhamon felt at ease enough with this misfit group of monsters to let what was on his mind immediately roll off of his tongue. "Why don't you just deal with it? I have to sit here and see your face and you don't see me gagging." 

It probably wasn't the banter so much as it was the outsider saying it, but a spell of uproarious laughter fell over the group. With the exception of Maeve, of course, who locked eyes with the acolyte as she snapped a thick bone in half with her back teeth. It was hard to feel intimidated with such a rousing reception, though. 

Aside from the mess that it caused, it was a damn good meal nevertheless. So good, in fact, that Kalla thought it was a great time to take a nap, leaving the guard position on the northern gate wide open. Dhamon would get to stare off into the valley rather than just at a crumbling monument today, owing to his position as shift bitch. He didn't mind too much. It was beautiful day in a beautiful land. 

Some vague stretch of time passed before the next disaster crashed into them. It began with some indecipherable, yet familiar yelling that sounded like it was coming from east of the outpost. Their message became clearer the closer they got. 

"Hey! There's trouble!" 

The shouting turned out to be Markus, if the deep grumble of his voice wasn't already enough to tell. The charr turned the corner of the southern gate with his gun drawn. Maeve jumped in right behind him, shooting a glance back at the wall once more just to make sure it wasn't her own fault. Kalla stumbled out of the barracks with her shield only partly strapped to her arm. 

Rammus looked none too pleased to be interrupted from whatever menial task he'd set upon himself this time. "If this ain't some serious shit, I'm gonna stick you to cleaning the mortar barrels for a week!" 

"Tch." Markus gestured his head to the side. "Remember what we were talking about at lunch? Wanna guess which pest decided to throw a party?" 

Whatever it was, the situation was dire enough that everyone saw fit to pile out and run to the eastern side of the wall. Naturally, since he was stuck in this mess as well, Dhamon decided to abandon his previous post and join them. What, were the ghosts going to come riding down the road in a chariot if he looked away? 

The whole warband was peering off into the distance by the time the acolyte made it over. Their eyes seemed sharper than his, because all he saw was a big expanse of grass swaying gently in the breeze. "What?" he said out loud. "Where's the trouble? There's nothi-" 

The legionnaire pointed a claw into the center of field. "Aw shit, I see 'em now! By the stream! Looks like a ton of those bastards!" 

Dhamon hadn't noticed it before, but after staring a bit longer, he saw that there was indeed a stream that ran about a hundred meters out from the encampment. The overgrown foliage made it exceptionally difficult to spot. More than that, some of the swaying movements began to look somewhat unnatural, like there was something moving inside the grass. That anomaly multiplied in number upon its realization, with brief glimpses of green scales and fins all over the place. 

"Damn!" Rammus spat out the swear like it were a tooth. He glanced around himself, then towards the mortar placements. "Knew I shoulda cooked that thing inside! Shouldn't have worried about grease and smoke clogging up the room! Slimy little assholes!" 

Dhamon drew his glaive, but furrowed his brow at the same time. "Um. So...What's the issue with those skale? I thought they always grouped up like that. Is there something wrong?" 

"You wanna know about the skale incident? Is that right?" the legionnaire mused as he started to drag a whole cannon over from the several pointed towards the wall. 

"Aw, don't tell 'em about that!" Kalla begged. Markus just snickered and gestured an elbow towards the acolyte. 

"One fine day a month ago-" he began, much to Kalla's displeasure. "-Kalla was guarding the front gate like usual. Skale comes up, starts sniffing around. She thinks its cute and just lets it waltz right in. It steals a bit of food and runs off. Next day, two of the things come up. She lets them, they take some food, they leave. Can you guess what happened the next day?" 

The grey charr clattered her mace against her shield. "That's fine! We got th' idea! Let's jus' deal with it already!" 

Rammus chimed in as he rejoined the group, armaments at his feet. "Seven fucking skale. They told all their friends and ransacked the whole goddamn hill together. Now we gotta deal with deal the swarms from time to time now that they know they can just walk right in and take our fucking food." 

"It din't matter! It was only two! Assholes!" 

Past Kalla's embarrassed shouts, Maeve put her foot down on top of the relocated mortar and drew her blades. "Hey, Ram. Fuck off with this shit for now. I'm itching to rip some throats out and if I don't get the chance I'm gonna take it out on your human pet. Those pests are mine." 

"Hmph." Dhamon brandished his weapon with a twirl and slammed the hilt down into the dirt. "You know what? I wanted a chance to stretch my legs, as well. I think I'll have a go at them. All this standing around is making me soft." 

While that much was true, he mostly said that to see the look on Maeve's face, and certainly wasn't disappointed by the expression of sheer disgust that flashed past. "Is it really? Didn't really the standing around to help you with that. Stay the fuck out of my way." 

"Why don't we strike a deal, then?" the acolyte suggested with a smug grin. "I get left side. You get right. That way, we don't get in each other's way, and we both get a bit of a workout. That good enough for you?" 

"No." 

Maeve took off down the side of the hill like a bolt of lightning. By the time the pack of skales had poked their head out of the grass at the noise, she had already dove through the shadows and burst out the other side. Spitting out his prayers like they were swears, Dhamon launched himself down the slope after her. The willing wind pushed on his back and propelled him into the fray. 

The first unsuspecting skale was slain by Maeve's dagger. She pounced on her prey with a bone-cracking thud and gouged its throat out before the pack even knew what was happening. Distracted even still, the animals didn't notice that the grass began to bow, pushed down by the strengthening whirlwind that barreled towards them. Dhamon came up from behind a skale that had unwittingly stuck its head out of cover to screech at the charr. It glanced back at him for a fraction of a second before its spine was severed. 

The element of surprise had worn off. The amphibious pests chose the closest target and launched themselves with a mindless ferocity. The females, swifter and more massive than the males, charged headfirst into the growing storm that surrounded the acolyte. He bid the soil to raise and join the gale, positioning the length of his weapon between himself and the monsters. He'd been itching quite badly for another fight since last night. It was an honor and a pleasure to cloak himself in the blessings of Melandru. 

His blade met with a flood of gnashing teeth and swinging claw. He twisted the glaive into the closest skale's jaws and yanked its head to the side, knocking a few of its fangs into the nearby brush. The stragglers came through the grass and leapt for his throat in the following seconds. Jumping backwards, Dhamon willed the swirling dusts to shine and reflect a mirage of his older position. The skale collided into one another as they piled onto a foe that was no longer there. While they reeled from the impact, the acolyte swung his blade through the illusion and caught the swirling magics in the edge. He carried the movement through with a spin, braced his hands on the hilt, and carved straight through flesh and bone in a wide arc. 

The second wave of skale started to emerge. The males were scrawny and small, but able to naturally invoke necromantic magicks. Dhamon put a great deal of distance between them and him, knowing full well from his own country's species that their bite could inflict a hex that rotted flesh outright. In contrast to the aggressive females, the males also seemed to keep their distance from his blade, likely having learned from the pile of dying ones they were forced to pass. As long as he didn't let them close, this would be- 

A wall of mass that had no right being as stealthy as it was swooped in from the sidelines. Maeve struck one of the males like a hunting hawk, rending it asunder in a beautifully executed, totally gruesome way. The other skale retreat back and howled some unearthly noise from the deep parts of their throats. Several of them vomited entire clouds of magical corpse flies, the swarm amassing together and surging directly towards the charr. She promptly sunk back into the shadows and disappeared from sight entirely. The flies sought out the next source of heat, which was unfortunately very close by. 

Dhamon panicked and willed the sandstorm at his feet to envelope him completely. The swarm got swallowed up by the winds and tossed aside, but it didn't do much to slow the female skale that tried to latch onto his leg. He was lucky enough for it to have grabbed onto a loose bit of robe instead, but its thrashing back and forth threw him completely off-balance. Gasping out an invocation, a sudden burst of force obeyed him and launched the creature away, in addition to dispelling his personal storm and all the flies it had consumed. 

That was when Maeve swooped back in and dispatched the skale he had just incapacitated. She shot him toothy grin, fangs covered in blood. "Worthless dead-weight! Why do I have to do all the work?" 

He had the right mind to sweep at her legs, but there was a worse threat afoot than some showy bitch. One of the males tried to flank him and get a nip in while his defenses were down. Without any space to leverage, Dhamon smacked at the skale with the butt of his glaive and took off into the field. A pack fell in behind to chase him. More females caught up to him. He stomped a foot down and spun each time, slicing through the grass and keeping his foes at bay. 

When he finally got a good cut in on one of the beasts, he bid that Melandru take it, the words bursting with power. The soil upturned into a series of spires and impaled it through the stomach. Maeve continued to be more of a pest than these vermin and pounced on the other female that had been behind him. There was a pattern to her attacks, he could tell. It was too quick to decipher at a glance, but it wasn't entirely just savage slashing. 

"So sloppy! What mook trained you?" the charr growled while the skale uselessly batted at her in its death throes. 

"Behind you," Dhamon calmly said. 

One of the smaller males, a runt whose head was barely visible above the grass, jumped up to bite the charr on the tail. It would have definitely gotten her, too, had the acolyte not swung his glaive in a wide overhead arc to clip the thing on its skull. She barely registered what he'd just did until a second later, a genuine look of surprise plastered to her face. Why did he do that? It would've been really funny to watch her tail fall off. 

Either way, he stuck his nose into the air. "So sloppy. I was taught a warrior should always be aware of their surroundings." 

"You piece of shit," spat Maeve, stomping her claws into her kill as she stood on her hind legs. "Don't start getting a big head. Something bad might happen to you. I'm already putting in twice the work that you are down here." 

"You're not even going to thank me for saving your tail? Seems your mother never taught you manners, either." 

The charr sauntered towards him, not bothering to lower her blades. If she had a gun, it would one-hundred percent be pointed directly at him very with little regard for trigger discipline. "At least the other wastes of flesh they send to this place are quiet! At least they know their place! I don't know what the fuck is up with you, but I swear I'm gonna-" 

When she tried to jab a claw into his chest for emphasis, the blessing he'd enchanted himself with pushed right back, erupting into a concussive blast that threw Maeve back a couple feet. As heavy a target as she was, the spell didn't do much more than push her backwards. Still, the gesture alone was enough to turn the stunned disbelief on her face into rage. She took stance against him. 

"Fuck the skale. You just made yourself my dinner tonight." 

He had seen this creature in action for long enough to know that this was a terrible idea. This was a bloodthirsty savage who could brandish a blade better than anyone he'd ever seen. What was it that overcame the acolyte, causing him to bow his head in preparation for prayer and position the end of his glaive towards her heart? Where was the fear? The self-preservation? Why did this animal make his blood boil so much that it went against the very teachings of his profession? Was he truly this boisterous when his master wasn't around? 

And why did he never think before he spoke? "I'm not afraid of you, Maeve. I'm not the Seraph soldiers who get sent out here on some quill-pushers whims. Even the rest of your warband acknowledges me and my goddess. You're the only fool here." 

A roar echoed over the countryside. Hundreds of pounds of bone and muscle and spike launched itself at Dhamon's throat. The only thing keeping those twin blades from away from his jugular was his polearm. And even then, the fact that she had to get around it wasn't exactly an advantage. What his raised weapon did do was buy him the precious seconds he needed to muster up another sandstorm. She slapped the glaive away in the direction of the burst of wind. He followed the momentum, twirling on his heels and bringing the blade across her chest. 

Her armor took the brunt of the blow, and even if it hadn't, nothing short of a hurricane could have stopped the charr at this point. A flick of the hilt of his glaive and a step backwards barely managed to stop her sword. The dagger in her other hand seemed to appear out of nowhere, slicing across his left forearm. A storm of pain came long before the blood, but he didn't have time to care while both of the Maeve's blades twisted in her grip and thrust forward. It was a stroke of luck that she aimed for his head, swinging through a false image of the acolyte instead of the real thing. 

The patterns of her attacks revealed themselves. As perfect as her form was, she was predictable. The proper chant at the right time would always protect him from harm, be it feigning a movement, buffeting her in the face with the sand, or deflecting a strike with a barrier when he couldn't possibly get out of the way. There was no time at all to get an attack in edgewise, but locking blades with this beast surely wouldn't have ended well. All he needed to do was survive, and that was easy with lady of survival herself watching over him. 

Before long, Maeve's bronze fur was blasted even darker colors with dirt and soil. She squinted against the storm, wiping at her eyes every so often to little effect. A string of profanities left her mouth every time she plunged into the storm. The pattern broke when she stowed her dagger and rushed for his center of mass with an open palm. Her claws shimmered as they latched onto the fabric of his enchantment, but before she could tear it away, Dhamon lifted the pole of his weapon beneath her elbow and put in a lock. Doubting that he had the strength to break her arm outright, he swung every ounce of his weight he could spare into a single kick. The wind gladly guided his sandal so that it landed square in the center of the charr's snout. 

That was the last blow that was landed before the others intervened. Kalla's hunk of metal she called a shield separated the two of them. 

"Knock it off! Save some for the ghosts, idiots!" 

The look of sheer hatred that Maeve shot him while she cradled the end of her nose made him very glad that the fight was over. He was surprised that he was able to do even that much. Humbled, perhaps. Hopefully enough to stop making wise-cracks that could land him a dagger in his gut. 

Rammus took his turn to snarl. "Burn me! What the hell's going on? You came down here to eradicate the pests, not each other for crying out loud! Might as well run your asses into the ghosts naked if you're gonna do that!" 

"Get out of my way!" Maeve seethed, trying to push past the pillar of iron that was Kalla. "This doesn't concern any of you. I need to kill him! I need to taste his blood on my tongue dammit!" 

"You should stop," boomed Markus. "It's a waste of energy. Whoever won that exchange, it wasn't going to be clean. Both of you being alive is more useful than one of you dead and the other busted up. Just end it now." 

"I'm trying to end it and you're all getting in my way! Why are you taking the side of a human?! What the fuck's all your problems?!" 

"Common sense, Maeve! Use some of it!" Rammus grabbed at her shoulder and yanked her back. "You keep running your mouth, he's gonna run his back! You keep throwing punches, he's gonna throw some back! Just 'cuz he ain't a charr doesn't mean he can't dish your own shit back at you! So quit bein' an ass and behave yourself!" 

With no support and even less wind left in her lungs, Maeve ripped away from the legionnaire's hand, huffed a clump of blood from her nostrils, and stormed off back towards the outpost. Dhamon didn't feel as good about this victory as he thought he would. Watching her back through the tapering end of his personal storm, he let his glaive fall to the ground and took a kneel. He saw the deep red that had dyed the sleeve of his robe and was immediately reminded of the pain he was supposed to be in. That was fucking deep. 

With a snicker, Kalla smacked the bottom of her shield into the dirt. "''S not all bad. Took out a lotta skale still, and scared the rest of 'em off afterwards. And look it all the meat we got now!" 

"Blech," Markus spat. "I hate skale." 

"Skale's great! Fuck you!" 

Dhamon pulled a roll of gauze from his pack and started to unravel it over the oozing wound. Drawing a sharp breath, he bit his tongue and bore through the process. It wasn't so bad. He could've been dead by now, for instance. Or been the loser. The pettiest side of him was more than satisfied that he managed to get the last blow in. 

The legionnaire came up to him with a pair of crossed arms and shook his head. "You. You're a lot of trouble for a human. Hell, you're a lot of trouble for a charr. Maeve's not used to her prey biting back. I reckon a human she can't push around gets right the hell under her fur. We'll, uh...try to convince her not to maul you in your sleep." 

"At this point?" the acolyte began with a wheeze. "I get the feeling that she's not gonna let me go that easily anymore. Just call it a hunch."


	4. Chapter 4

The Black Citadel. Capital city of the charr. A towering monument to their success and industry. Never sleeping, never ceasing. The sound of progress is said to be heard at all hours of the day within these walls of iron. 

And Dhamon thought the fucking outpost was an eyesore. 

The acolyte walked a healthy distance behind the Spire warband, not wanting to draw much attention to either party as they approached the menacing gates of the city. There was more metal and spines in his immediate vision than there would've been if he was staring down Kralkatorik. The noise of the city alone was unlike anything he'd ever heard out of Divinity's Reach. A constant rumble filled the air, emanating from seemingly all directions at once. Some hundreds of machines and forges droned on, accompanied by the eternal march of countless armored soldiers, punctuated by the orders that were barked in the distance. 

None of the charr that passed paid him any mind, but never in his life had he ever felt so displaced. 

Falling back from the group formation, Rammus came up to Dhamon and winked. "Well? What do you think of the Black Citadel? Is it as awful and sacrilegious as you thought it would be?" 

"...Absolutely," the acolyte gasped, getting a generous lungful of that off-tasting air. "This monstrosity is surely affront to the gods in every way." 

The legionnaire broke out into laughter and clapped him on the back. "And don't you fucking forget it! Aren't you glad that waste of a contract you came with assigned you to my warband instead of the actual fort you were supposed to be guarding? Still can't believe your superiors are such idiots!" 

Never in his dreams would Dhamon have imagined that this silly test would eventually take him to the capital of the charr. He and the disjointedly-connected warband passed through the gate with a couple salutes being the only terms of entry. The acolyte would've vastly preferred to stay back at the Northern Wall and cope with the warband that relieved this one. Rammus wasn't having a word of it, however. The legionnaire was responsible for him by signature, and as it turns out, he liked to keep his responsibilities close and within sight at all times. 

Right away, functional architecture collided head-first with intricate craftsmanship like waves slamming against a cliff in a storm. A masterful pride intermingling with a brutal reality. He couldn't help but be awed by the majesty, even if it went against the teachings of his very god. What few trees remained to be seen were scrawny and small, standing in isolation at the edges of the road. Factories and facilities of all manners jutted out in either direction and continued out for as far as he could see. Ahead of them, massive statues of historical charr figures flanked both ends of the road, following up to an otherworldly spherical castle of steel and ruthlessness. 

Dhamon felt like an ant in the midst of a marketplace. It was as if that overwhelming building was glaring straight through him. "Oh gods," he whimpered. Words and stories alone couldn't have described that thing. 

"Hah. Check 'er out," Kalla jabbed a thumb at one of the mighty statues as they passed. The charr in question bore an eternal sneer as she notched an arrow against her past enemies. "'S my namesake. Parents wern't very original. Not a bad one 't be named after, though. Revolted against the shamans and got females outta servitude." 

"If only you could be half as pragmatic," Markus added with a scoff. 

The Spire warband had a few errands to run while on their 'weekend'-- if you could even call it that. Most of the matters ended up being bureaucratic nonsense that Rammus dragged the whole group along to. Papers to sign, arms to have maintained, and orders to fill. Not far behind in the march, Dhamon prayed to Melandru just to keep him safe in this blistering scar of land. 

Deeper into the fortress of moving mechanisms and industry, the amount of glares the acolyte accumulated increased almost exponentially. He looked too much like a holy man. Maeve hardly had an unpopular opinion among her people, and if what he had heard about the charr's dogma is true, the Spire warband was actually fairly liberal with the whole thing. 

Maeve herself had been ignoring Dhamon as hard as she could for the entire duration of the trip. The fact that Rammus had forced him to come must have broke something in her. His very presence was an insult, and therefore she simply pretended that he didn't exist at all. It wasn't subtle in the slightest. For all the over-stimulation and the disgust, he felt most at home while silently chuckling at her childishly-impotent hate. It was a welcome distraction from the cold-forged horror that surrounded them. 

"Smodur's whiskers, this fucking sucks," said Rammus as he exited from the fourth office in a row. "I'm gonna have to go right up to The Core just to get this shit signed. All I want are some more modern mortars! Is that so much to ask? We're defending your precious livestock from those goddamn ghosts! You'd think that'd protecting the farms that feed our soldiers would be a bigger deal to these mutts." 

"Can't expect them to understand," Maeve spat off to the side. "It's run by a bunch of salty fogeys who're too old to do anything else. The insides of these walls are all the action they've seen for years. Their memories are starting to go." 

Dhamon craned his head, daring to speak up. "Do the charr even have civilians? Everyone I've seen has either clearly been on-duty or looked like they just got off. Though I suppose there's not many leisures your kind tend to enjoy outside, aside from dying the sky yellow with smoke and killing every blade of grass that so much as waves in your direction." 

"Civilians?" Markus tapped a claw to his chin. "Perhaps not. The cubs, maybe? I suppose the gladiums count, but they're treated more like walking dirt than anything. If you aren't moving your feet around here, you'll be swept under and trampled real quick. Learned that lesson the hard way when I was young." 

Kalla stepped between him and the acolyte, her slow drawl amplified through a bare-toothed laugh. "He prob'ly means summin' like the towns up north. They're closer to his speed, anyway, considerin' how lazy humans are. I was born up there myself, in the Marches. Kinda miss those days. Maybe we'll get stationed up there sometime." 

"I'll desert and throw myself to The Bane before you can force me to shovel cow shit for a living," growled Maeve. 

"Psh. You think it's so bad, you ain't ever even done it," they grey charr shot back before she fell in line behind Rammus' march. "Sure as hell beats starin' at that fucking wall." 

More walking. More sidelong stares shot at the displaced human. More raw industry paired side-by-side with masterful artistry. That part in particular was the most striking aspect of the city. Even the oversized cranes that moved tons of raw material were decorated like cathedral windows. Everyone needed something to believe in, he supposed. When you reject gods and faith both, all your really left with are the tools that you used to build your society. Even thoughtless beasts like these could find their own shade of beauty, brutal and arrogant as it was. 

"Cow shit's not so great," Markus broke the silence. "But I wouldn't mind being sent out to defend some orchard somewhere. Better yet, a brewery. Nobody's gonna tell if some of the stock goes missing, you know what I'm saying? Quality testing's an important part of production." 

Rammus smacked the papers in his hand. "Can't you wait one more goddamn hour before you start going on about ale? We'll get there soon enough. The quicker we get this garbage out of the way, the more matches we'll see at The Bane tomorrow. Wanted to show the human what real entertainment looked like." 

"Claws of the Khan-Ur, Ram! Nobody fucking cares about your pet dog!" exclaimed Maeve for everyone in the next city block to hear. Dhamon couldn't help but snicker for whatever reason. 

  


_____

You know it's bad when a few handfuls of trees and some patches of grass incites a genuine reaction of surprise. 

The Spire warband chose to finish their wandering adventure in what appeared to be the best part of town. Past the ruins of Rin that were left standing as a cruel joke, beyond the smoke clouds and the lines of soldiers, was a little piece of Ascalon. The buildings had thinned out just enough that some foliage was permitted to grow in the packed soil in-between. They were nothing more than glimpses of green amid of a sea of black, grey, and red, but just that alone was enough make the polluted air slightly more bearable. 

Their path swerved through the busy streets and came to an end at a circular building, the light of the setting sun barely touching its walls. Boisterous shouts poured through the door well before they had even entered. Tankards slamming, slurred singing, and various feral animal noises all bled through the sheet-metal. The sign read something other than krytan, but it didn't take a Durmand scholar to put two and two together. 

"...A bar?" Dhamon spoke out loud, stopping just before the warband plunged on in through the entrance. He stared off into the distance for around a quarter of a minute before Rammus even noticed he was gone 

"What's the big deal? You coming or what?" the legionnaire reemerged and tried to usher him in, but couldn't quite get him to budge. "Come on! Alcohol's what binds all races together! There isn't a single creature out there that can't be made friends with a few drinks! 'Cept maybe Sylvari, I guess. Dunno if they got kidneys." 

Dhamon pat himself on the chest. "You do realize I'm a priest, right? Pleasures of the flask don't tend to be something we...do. At least not the good ones." 

"Well yeah! But you're still basically a cub! Youth's the best time to make mistakes if you ask me. If you fuck up now, it'll help you know why you don't want to fuck up later! And dammit it's just a few drinks is all. You can't tell me there weren't monks that didn't get smashed from time to time." 

"I kind of doubt that," Dhamon said with a slight shake of his head. "I think I'll just stay here. Or maybe I'll go out and tour the ruins a bit, see what's left of the civilization your people obliterated. I've been needing to slip a good prayer in, anyway." 

Rammus laughed, but the claw that closed around the acolyte's shoulder didn't reciprocate that sound. "Nah. You're getting in that bar." 

"But it doesn't..." he sighed. This charr didn't give a damn about him. It was the fact of where blame could land that was the issue. Anything Dhamon did would lead back to this warband. "You've had problems in the past with people under your responsibility, haven't you? I'm literally just a liability to you." 

"See? You're not stupid! And neither am I, anymore. So get the hell in that bar and act like you're not a paragon of morality for Iron's sake!" 

The air was hot. The bar itself was circular like its walls, birch-wood tables wrapping around its perimeter and in layers around the center, which dropped down a few feet into another lounge with a roaring fire. All manner of trophies lined the walls, the most notable being an ascalonian hydra's grinning skull. Strange and hypnotizing works of craftsmanship accompanied the various symbols of status and strength. It was apparently a busy night. 

The Spire warband found a table flush up against the railing around the central lounge. Dhamon wondered if he could slip away and find some other corner to sidle himself into, but Rammus curled a finger at him while Markus pulled back an oversized chair. Fuck. This was already way worse than having to fight ghosts or skales. Maeve even looked somewhat happy before he came up to the table and took his place. Her expression melted into exasperation once more, which was directed straight at her legionnaire instead of him. Her silent message was very clear. 'Why the fuck have you brought him in here?' 

Dhamon shared the sentiment and wasn't afraid to say it out loud. "I feel like a Balthazar-damned kid being dragged around the market. Why am I here?" 

"Because I said so, you waste of meat!" Rammus shot off. 

"Unbelievable..." Maeve growled under her breath. 

Kalla slammed the table with the side of her fist. "Don't like th' tour? Ain't seen enough fire and brimstone yet to satisfy? Bet'cha didn't even bring coin to get wasted on!" 

The acolyte leaned his elbows on the high tabletop. "That's not the problem. You invited me in here, but I don't drink. There's no point." 

"You don't-" Across the way, Maeve headbutt the table, her horns smacking into the wood. "You don't fucking drink. You're right! Why are you here?! Ram, I'm about three seconds from slaughtering this human and gouging your eyes out with his rib cage for bringing him along everywhere." 

"Shut your trap, Mae. Everyone already knows what you think. It's a waste of breath to keep saying it," Markus said. "Just let him sit there, then. It's not doing any harm to us, and it's most certainly not doing any harm to you." 

The drinks came in the form of huge tankards with had enough contents sloshing around to drop any uninitiated alcoholic from Divinity's Reach. Getting beasts as massive and as heavy as the charr tipsy probably took an excessive amount of work. He didn't want to know how much of this shit was being stored here and consumed on a daily basis. The Spire warband alone took down their first cups in what seemed like five minutes. He could barely deal with these creatures while they were sober! How was he going to get through the rest of the day while they're fucked up? This was definitely going to be a long night... 

Somewhere in Dhamon's brooding, a tankard was slammed down in front of him. His eyes refocused, glared at the oversized mug, then followed the furry arm up to the rest of Maeve. She looked about as displeased as she usually did, but with an added flicker of determination. 

"Congratulations," she began in a monotone voice. "Prohibition's over. Drink." 

"...I'm not paying for that." 

Her claws wrapped around the back of his head and pushed him closer to the edge of the mug. He considered putting up a holy barrier, but decided that starting a fight in a tavern of charr wasn't the best idea. 

Maeve bared her teeth. "I already paid. Just fucking drink. You're existence on the face of this world alone is an embarrassment to the whole warband. Just sitting there like an accessory is making it worse. If you don't start acting like you're in a fucking bar soon I'm gonna twist your head off and drink from the tap of your neck." 

"Oho!" Rammus raised his glass with a tiny cheer. "Everyone see that? Maeve's hittin' it off with the human! Think she'll have him in bed by midnight?" 

That made the bright-eyed charr whip around faster than a hawk's dive. Her punch landed into the legionnaire's shoulder with such force that his whole chair tipped back. Rammus groaned from the pain, but the look on his face made it clear that the joke was well worth it. Probably wasn't the first hit he'd taken from her, probably wouldn't be the last. 

"Mae! You dishin' out th' next round? Do me next, I'm almost dry!" Kalla held her cup up high and demonstrated this by swirling the ale around as fast as she could, losing a couple drops in the process. 

"Can it!" Maeve shot back as she settled down once more. "Use your own coin, you grubby whore. I'm just paying the tax for not looking like a bunch of idiots." 

He stared down the foamy concoction, filled to the brim with reluctance. He could practically already feel that disapproving glare from his master bearing down on the back of his neck. Not that his master was here or ever had to know, but the conscience always weighs heavier than the consequence. So what if youth was made for mistakes? The easiest path is to just not make any, and this swill seemed...less than appetizing. 

Maeve waited, mirroring the imaginary disapproval of his teacher with her own look of disgust. Two opposing forces, almost with the same intensity. He could spite Maeve and just continue to have a stick up his ass the whole time. That just didn't seem like the kind of war he wanted to wage, though. It didn't prove anything. Nothing could be gained from it. He was supposed to be here to learn, wasn't he? Failure is the catalyst for success, isn't it? And who knows, maybe that beast's ugly mug would be a little less difficult to look at with some assistance. 

Dhamon cursed at the charr and pulled the tankard to his mouth. The froth felt terrible against his upper lip and the ale was as foul as it smelled. It was only through spite that he was able to keep drinking, but what a powerful emotion spite was! Once he finally did slam the drink down and gasp for breath, an roar of cheers exploded from everyone at the table but the one who instigated this act. She continued to look satisfied at him instead. She thinks she broke the holy man's oaths. It was going to be hilarious when she ate her words. 

It started in the tips of his fingers and on the ridges of his cheekbones. A tingling traveled up his arms and settled as a warmth behind his ears. It had been a long time since he'd done something like this. So long that he'd almost forgotten the feeling altogether. The tightness that had clogged up his chest since he'd walked up to this metallic abomination of a city began to gradually unwind. He knew better than to trust that relaxation, but resisting it was another story entirely. 

The others got much looser much quicker. Kalla began to holler with the rest of the bar in its occasional uproars, the fur around her maw thoroughly foamed up. 

"Hell yeah! I love this part!" she would yell, slapping the bottom of her drink against the wood in agreement with whatever thoughtless chant was sweeping through the building at the time. Usually something about loyalty or power or 'blasting the heads off of the fucking shoulders of those ghosts'. It was an intoxicating kind of energy that even a human like him could get behind. 

"It's this shit that reminds me of when we were in the fahrar," Rammus began with a belch. "Remember when we snuck off with a keg that fell off a supply cart and got absolutely destroyed out in Ashford with that Scythe warband? Then Victus ran off to fucking snitch on us, but they couldn't punish us til next morning 'cuz of how fucked up we were? Drinkin' with someone new always give me that feeling!" 

"Victus was a fucking bitch!" added Maeve. "Glad he's gone. Don't even care if he makes it to tribune or whatever. For all the dumb shit you do, you're still a better legionnaire than he was. Markus ain't a bad replacement member either, I guess." 

The huge charr huffed in response. His speech had gotten a lot less eloquent and enunciated since he last spoke. "You guess? Don't start getting cold feet now. You're the ones that took in a seven-year gladium. Shoulda known from the start I was gonna be trouble." 

With a roll of his hand and another swig, Rammus hummed. "Headless Heirophant! You? Trouble? Kalla and Maeve get into worse shit on a daily basis than you can manage to slip into over the course of a whole week! There's a damn good head on your freakish shoulders, my man. Havin' an open mind nets you all sort of opportunities other idiots can't get. Take for instance, this fucking human right here. Full of surprises!" 

Dhamon gave a tiny chuckle, shrinking in his chair a bit. "I suppose. If you're asking me, I'd say you're a little beyond open-minded. What kind of asshole invites a human to their table?" 

"Who cares?!" Kalla shouted like she couldn't comprehend how loud she was. "I ain't got time 't care who's who and what's what! Ain't never had the energy, either. You low over there? Hey! Hey, someone git this hairless freak som'mor ale!" 

"Ah- No, no. I really don't think I need-" 

A resounding slam echoed across the table as Maeve put her cup down. She looked him in the eyes as she joined the chorus. "More ale for the freak!" 

The acolyte found yet another full cup in front of his face. What he'd already downed was still taking effect, yet there was already another poor decision sitting in front of him. At this point, he simply shrugged and starting having at the next round, a voice in the back of his mind nagging like no other. The taste had gotten a bit better. 

At some vague moment of clarity Dhamon noticed that Maeve was matching him cup for cup. She was almost certainly a lightweight for a charr, owing to the reality of her small stature. It looked like her only objective was to not be out-drank by some shitty human she already hated with all her passion. There was a knowing glint in her eyes. This was another competition. He shot a grin back to gesture his acceptance and downed another gulp. 

Meanwhile Kalla was on her fifth refill and only now just started to sway in her seat despite not being too much larger than Maeve. Didn't she say she was born out in the country around here? Likely inherited some incredible degree of hardiness from her parents. Humans who lived most their lives farming in the outskirts of Queensdale tended to be like that, too. 

Then Rammus responded to what Dhamon had assumed was his own thoughts. "Yeah! You can really tell where a charr's from by how iron their stomach is. I've known officers who lead entire battalions and still couldn't bear to have their meat anything less than cooked, salted, seared, and roasted." 

Oh shit. He was starting to think out loud now. Maybe this stuff was more dangerous than he originally anticipated. 

Dhamon was well at his limit by the time the second tankard was down. His head spun like the wheel of a wagon, and knowing that not everything had hit yet, there was no way he could take in any more and expect to come out the other side intact. That didn't stop Maeve from beating the table and getting them both another round, a fiery determination in her already burning eyes. This wordless competition was going to end in tragedy if he kept going. However, in seeing Maeve attempting to disguise her symptoms, an insidious idea crept up on him without warning. 

With a nod towards the charr, the acolyte brought the tankard up to his lips, which prompted her to do the same. Keeping his mouth closed, he let the ale splash up against his face and pretended to chug it down, flexing his throat muscles and huffing through his nostrils for authenticity. Maeve readily mirrored the act, then hurried to pass him, downing her entire drink and dropping its receptacle onto the table with a victorious sigh. Her features flattened when he set his still-full drink down and wiped at the mess. 

"Hmm. You know," he began, watching with glee as Maeve processed the trick. "You charr sure know how to drink. I'd say I'm well at my limit now. Kalla, you want this one? Don't mind my human germs?" 

The grey charr nearly lunged across the table for that tankard. "Hell'yah! I don' givva fuck, I eat raw meat off 't ground all the fuckin' time!" 

Markus eyed the exchanged and shook his head. "That's not somethin' to be proud of, Kalla. Why would you be proud of that? Don't just say that out loud." 

"...You tricky bitch!" Maeve mumbled once she caught up to the situation. Her chair scraped loudly as she flipped around to get up. The simple act of standing too suddenly made her nearly tip over, but unfortunately she managed to keep her balance all the way to his seat. "My fucking money paid for that drink! I'm the one that decided where it was going to go! You don't just get to give it away or not drink it, you miserable excuse for a skelk!" 

Everything was much less intimidating while intoxicated. More so when what you're being intimidated by is more drunk than you are. "Oh yeah?" Dhamon said with a poorly concealed snicker. "I dunno, I guess I'm just more of a lightweight. Wouldn't have been able to handle that last one. You seemed like you were having fun so I didn't wanna stop you. I guess I concede to you, the better drinker!" 

She wrapped her claws around his necks and yanked him forwards, which would've normally been terrifying but was kinda funny in the moment. The raspy growl that spilled from her throat washed over his face and smelled like the trash they'd been drinking. "You just going to turn down my generosity, huh? When all of us here have been showing you NOTHING but generosity? Typical fucking human! Backstabbing assholes, all of you!" 

"Will you two hurry up and kiss already? The tension is killing me!" Rammus instigated from the sidelines. 

"I'll fucking-!" When Maeve whipped her head around to scream back, the motion sent her whole body into a dizzying tumble. The charr had to drop to all fours just to not collapse onto her back. 

Dhamon let his laughter free. "Yeah, me too! Was wondering when it was gonna happen! I mean hey, there are uglier humans out there! And those eyes are pretty damn hypnotizing, I'm not gonna lie." 

"Fuck I wisssh I had her eyes, man," Kalla managed to say, slumped down over the surface of the table. The exact thing Dhamon knew would happen to him after that cup. "Alwaysh have. Alwaysh gonna. 'S crazy..." 

If Maeve wasn't covered from head to toe with fur, she would've been bright red. Whether it was because something inside her broke from rage or she realized that she was too tispy to do anything without embarrassing herself, the charr crawled on back to her seat without a word and pointed herself towards the fire. No more rounds would be brought to either of them that night. 

With enough time, the rowdiness of the bar settled into a more peaceful slump. The ale came to a rest in people's stomachs and weighed on the eyelids of those who had just gotten through a long day. Night had taken hold outside and waited at the crack in the doorway, distant crickets chirping away in spite of the never-ending din of the Citadel. Kalla had fallen asleep in the very spot she laid her head. Never missed a wink, did she? 

"She's always like that," Markus agreed to the thoughts that accidentally slipped from the acolyte's mouth. "Not much depth to that girl. Doesn't ever need to be. Someone like you, though--you got a lotta depth. Can't be shallow to find yourself in a situation like this, sitting with a charr warband in a bar some summer night, shooting the shit while we all collectively piss Mae off." 

"Kill yourself," Maeve lovingly added without so much as a glance in their direction. 

Dhamon blinked at the fuzziness in his vision. "Well, I don't really think so. The thing you gotta know about human priests and monks is that nine times out of ten, they're around just because they don't have anything better to do. Worship is mostly downtime with a side of blessings and some extra chores thrown in." 

"That's kinda not fair, considering you're clearly not some half-assed priest." Another moderate gulp later, Markus tapped his claws on the wood. "You've got a master. You're training in a nearly-extinct art from another country. You're also clearly competent in it as far as I can tell. Race don't really matter. Someone like you's gotta come from somewhere." 

"Pfft. I guess. Mom and a dad. Bit of working in the market here, bit of working for builders there. Mom was already in with the churches as a healer, so she pretty much hammered all this into my head when I was still real young. Pretty much lived a normal life until there was a centaur attack outside our town. Being a dumb kid, I got curious and snuck away from the evacuation to see the soldiers fight. That's when I saw the man who became my master-" 

He stopped. The memories were so vivid that they sliced through the haze of intoxication, bringing up old emotions like blood from a fresh wound. "...I saw him cloak himself in some sort of magic, and watched from the branches of a tree as his whole body changed. He became a creature like living wood and waded into the centaurs, slicing them down one-by-one as bark regrew over the places they slashed him. Even their mages could barely scratch him with their elemental magic. I've never seen him do it again and he refuses to acknowledge that it ever happened at all, but I know what I saw." 

A murmur rumbled in Markus' throat. He trained his eyes on the movement of his drink as he swirled the cup. "That's exactly what I mean. These aren't fucking techniques that your military teaches swathes of fleshbags how to exploit. It's been something special since the Shattered Dynasty era of your people. You're part of a legacy and I think that's damn interesting, no matter the fact that it's about faith or gods." 

"So when're you gonna turn into a tree?" Rammus added. 

"...Probably not anytime soon. I like to think that I'm fairly devout and even I have no idea how to even begin to understand how that magic worked." 

The ale was definitely starting to drag him down, too. Sleep hadn't come too naturally these last few days, making it the alcohol's reminder all the more impactful. He slumped down in the chair and settled his chin down on the table while he listened to conversations off in the distance. There wasn't much life left in him today. 

He sure hoped at least one of the warband was conscious enough to find them some place to sleep tonight.


	5. Chapter 5

The noise arrived before they did. A roar of cheers exploded over the distance, rumbling like an earthquake and echoing off the grand architecture looming over them. A crowd erupted over the distance. Listening closer, the sounds of metal clashing against metal rang over a wild cacophony of excitement. Dhamon didn't know what to expect from a place so romantically referred to as The Bane, but coliseum should've honestly been his first guess. These were charr. What other things would they do in their down time but drink, kill beasts, then kill each other? 

Walking into the arena proper took his breath away. It was as if the Black Citadel and tried and failed to swallow up this last fragment of Rin. Cold metal melded into the old stone with a certain unexpected degree of respect. The banners of the three legions and a few individual factions waved high and proud over the stands, which were positively brimming with charr. No matter where he looked, there was something to behold. From the bloody, dusty metal floor of the arena itself, to the waves drawn in the hands of the audience, all the way up to to the sky where the Imperator's Core glowered over everything in its almighty shadow. 

"Holy shit," the acolyte couldn't help but mutter. 

"Hurry up, asshole!" Kalla shouted as she beckoned him along. "We're gonna get bad seats if ya don't move it!" 

Dhamon fell in line behind the Spire warband as they pressed on between the rows. His eyes gravitated towards the arena, where it appeared that two different warbands had already formed their ranks on either side. One appeared to mostly be melee combatants endowed with crimson armor, though they had a couple archers in the back for support. The other appeared to be a collection of mages in dark cloth armor, toting all manner of catalysts and staves. A charr male with an enthusiastic voice went through their sponsors over some asuran-tech loudspeaker. 

He and the warband found a decent selection of seats on the northern end of the stands, allowing for a full view of both the arena itself and the horrible construction above them. Dhamon thought to find a spot away from the group, but the generosity of the warband (and the ferocious insistence of Rammus) set him right there in the mix. Even Maeve didn't seen to mind his presence today. In fact, she hadn't been angry all morning, and ignored the fact that the acolyte was with them altogether. 

There was no doubt in his mind. That bitch was planning something. 

"Look alive, maggots!" the gruff voice bounced out from every corner of The Bane. "We're just about ready to begin! The grudge match between Blood Legion's Slam warband and Ash's own Asp warband is just about ready to boil over! What tricks are already being held under our noses? Will brute force be enough to overcome the obstacles? Will Omella Aspstorm finally land a single meteor shower?! Hold on to your tails and let your coins fly!" 

It was very...theatrical, to say the least. Much more than Dhamon had expected out of these people. There were plenty of charr frothing at the mouth and climbing over one another, but it almost felt organized in a way. 

"Why does she try to cast a meteor shower every season?" Markus remarked with a grumble. "It's so inaccurate in a setting like this! There's a reason Cieran always has to carry the team with her illusions. Nobody'd be able to stand more than a half a minute out there without her distractions!" 

Kalla snorted. "You kiddin'? Could you imagine how the crowd'd sound if she got a good shower goin'? And it's so strong that Slam's gotta work around it anyway, even if it'd never hit! Just by existin', Omella's already conditioned them to spread out!" 

"It don't matter if they're just as good spread out as they are in formation," added Rammus with a shake of his head. 

The match began explosively, both from the crowd and from the uncurled fingers of the mages. Flames and sparks flew. Arrows sailed over the carnage. The announcer, almost high on the excitement, spat out every detail he could manage as the blades of the warriors crashed into a wall of resistance. There was so much going on that Dhamon could scarcely keep up. The finesse involved with small team-based battles went well over his head. One thing he did notice was that Omella had definitely whiffed her meteor shower. 

It ended up being so close that even the acolyte was on the edge of his seat. When it came down to just one archer left standing and two mages opposed, the outnumbered charr threw down their bow and pulled out a ritual truncheon from seemingly nowhere. They pounced on one of the mages and started mauling them with total abandon. A flood of flames seared across their back, but even still they tore into their prey with ceaseless ferocity, their wounds somehow regenerating as soon as they formed. Once the first target was totally drained, they turned to the next and rushed them down, inciting a massive roar from the audience before the fight was even finished. 

"Hah! They should've taken down their necromancer first!" Rammus shouted with a hearty slap of his leg. "Knew that was gonna happen! He's the most wily one of them all! Just 'cuz he's using a bow now doesn't mean he's not gonna suck out your soul at the first opportunity." 

"So," Dhamon began as he gawked at the single remaining charr, who stood triumphantly over his last enemy. "Did that whole warband just get slaughtered, or..." 

Markus grunted. "They're not dead. Well, they're a little dead. So long as people's heads aren't being crushed like grapes and they haven't been sitting there for hours, the healers can generally bring them back. These fights are less about lethality and more..." 

The announcer's voice washed over them, blasting their ears with more sponsors and battle statistics while still hoarse from the last few minutes. 

"...More about that." 

Once the two teams were revived to consciousness and ushered off of the arena, a few more minor events were announced to take place in-between larger ones. A norn deciding to take on an entire warband by himself. A mysterious stranger who was put up to the task of taking on two colocals at once. Talk of naval battles fluttered by, eliciting thoughts that they could somehow fill the arena with water. There were also some fights between captured creatures who've been corrupted by elder dragons, which apparently was a huge deal considering the jingling of coin that rang out across the stands. Even Kalla and Rammus pulled out their own savings. 

"Always bet on th' branded," Kalla said with a glint in her eye. "'Specially if they got devourers today. Dunno if they do, but those rip fuckers apart I tell you. Ain't even seen a risen get shredded so fast." 

"Tch." Rammus stood from his seat and stretched. "If you wanna lose, then sure, do that. Nothing's gonna shred destroyers, though, and if you do manage that somehow then you get their molten blood flyin' everywhere. Mordrem are so damn flammable, too." 

"You're keeping dragon minions grouped together? Here?!" Dhamon's eyes went wide. 

Snorting, Markus replied. "Doesn't matter if the dragons and their kin know where we are. Doesn't matter if they attack, either. They can't crack the Black Citadel. We'd probably invite them over and lay out a red carpet if it meant that we got to go all-out on a defensive." 

"...Gods above, you crazy fucking beasts..." the acolyte muttered under his breath. He felt a chill creep up his spine, then glanced back further down the row. He couldn't take it anymore. "Maeve, what are you plotting? I've never heard you be this quiet." 

"Yeah. Hey, yeah! He's right!" Rammus added. "You're usually all-in with the dragon bets! What's the big idea? You rig this shit or something?" 

The bright-eyed charr scoffed and leaned her chin on her claw. "Nah. You'll see." 

The next match came up. Some burly norn with an axe the size of a tree and a beard down to his stomach took the center, riling up the crowd as best he could. Standing opposed to him was an orderly rank of charr in leather armor. Introduced as the Scar warband, they stood at-attention while the norn did his thing, their patient blades at the ready. This almost seemed like a normal occurrance for them. Perhaps they were stationed up in Shiverpeak territory and got lumped into battles like this often? 

Most bets went on the charr. Turns out they weren't misplaced at all. The norn did a solid job of keeping space by swinging that pendulum of an axe around, but when you're one (admittedly large) man surrounded by a handful of highly-trained monster soldiers, there's only so much you can do. He was bound to be properly flanked at some point. The only question was when. 

Before Dhamon could see the fitting conclusion to this norn's ridiculous boast, a different charr came waltzing down their row. A clipboard between their claws and a scowl on their face, they made their way all the way down to the Spire warband, took a disinterested look back down at their papers, then raised their voice. 

"Dhamon Matthews?.. Yeah, there's only one human here, and a freaky looking one at that. Get your ass down to the access point, the show's about to start." 

"Hm?" He glanced around, as if thinking that they could've meant anyone else by that name. "The show? Wha- what do you mean the show?" 

The charr's annoyed expression deepened. "You signed up for a match today. Two colocals? Look kid, this ain't something you can back out of at this point. We got everything lined up already, put it on the line-up and all. There was even a deposit put down." 

"But I definitely didn't sign up for-" 

Oh son of a bitch. 

Everyone turned to Maeve. There was an unrepentant grin on her face as she stared off into the distance. "Hm? Oh, yeah I might have had something to do with that. Thought our human pet might need some exercise. You don't mind, do you? It's just a couple of simple beasts." 

"Mae you dirty little shit!" remarked Rammus, who had taken his coin out once more. "You can't go around signing people up for random Bane battles! That's just bad manners all around! Also I'll take thirty silver on the human." 

"Tch. You calling him a person?" Maeve snickered under her breath. "Whatever. You could always drop out like the pussy you are. You'd even be costing me the money I threw down to make sure you got in. It would be a loss for me through and through." 

Anybody could tell by the the tone of her voice alone that she already knew the outcome of this gambit. Of course he could throw this trick right back in her face and drop out. That was always an option, and most likely was the option that lead down the most righteous path. Maeve wouldn't have even suggested such a thing if she assumed he would do it, however. She understood him just as much as he did her, and this was a challenge he wasn't going to take laying down. 

"You're such a goddamn snake," Dhamon spat as he stood from his seat, motioning to follow the disgruntled organizer. "By the way, I'm flattered you even remembered my surname at all. You must really be obsessed with me." 

A flicker of annoyance passed in front of her eyes. It was still so satisfying to get under her skin. "Just go out there and get fucking mauled for me." 

He was led through a pair of metal grates, deeper and deeper into the hidden internals of the arena. Tenuous torchlight guided his steps through the stagnant air, his nose scrunched from the smell of blood and musk. More charr saw them through another hall and down onto ground level. There were more fighters gathered down here, as well as several asuran cages that housed the seething collection of dragon minions. The roar of the crowd echoed even louder down here, traveling through the walls and into the very soles of his feet. Judging from the sound, it seemed the arrogant norn had finally met his match. 

A handful of healers rushed past the acolyte and out onto the field. All the while, the announcer delivered the final verdict with sadistic levels of joy. His heart started to race. It wasn't just an ordinary battle for survival he was getting into. A thousand pairs of eyes would bear down on him. His attunement to Melandru's grace would be witnessed by what felt like an entire race of faithless creatures. Needless to say, he had gotten a grasp on why Maeve had arranged this little fight. It was a demonstration he couldn't afford to lose. 

"You're cue's almost up," hissed the charr that had dragged him down here. "Get the hell out there. Do something interesting, mouse." 

Dhamon approached the gate with bated breath. He threw his hood up and unhitched his glaive, testing its mighty weight in his hands. His introduction had begun being broadcast over the entire area. 

"Now I don't know who this guy is or where he came from," the omnipresent voice went on. "But what I do know is that anyone who thinks they can take on two of these bastards at once has got guts! Human or not, we got yet another crazy motherfucker stepping into the light with lofty claims! We're either getting the color of his spirit or the color of his guts this evening!" 

The iron bars rose. Dhamon sucked in a lungful of that metallic-tasting air and walked out into the field of dust. The gusts of wind that had been trapped in the wide open space whipped at his robes. He muttered a prayer to grasp at that breeze while the crowd bickered and placed their bets. All things considered, a prayer to Balthazar might not be too out of place here. His master was a devout follower of Melandru, as was evident, but a true follower should take the noble aspects of all the gods. In his whispered chants, he attempted to do just that. 

"And here's our two hungry puppies! Aw, just look at them! Aren't they cute?" the announcer cooed as a gate opened on the opposite end of the arena. There were two cages secured within, and two ravenous pairs of eyes watching him from within the darkness. "In case you haven't seen these things before, just think of a flightless griffon with way too much bite for its bark! Speaking of bites, they're looking just famished! Can't keep our little human waiting, can we? It's suppertime!" 

The cages were sprung open. The beasts took off, their brown feathers reduced to blurs of color as they launched themselves around the arena. What should've been wings were two spiny appendages that flexed and curled, impatiently waiting for prey to grasp. The creatures immediately began to circle the acolyte, spittle flying from their open maws. They knew he was dangerous. They also knew he was their next meal. 

"Melandru guide my feet." Dhamon took a wide stance, the wind picking up around him. Blood-soaked dust and dirt joined into the whirlwind. "Balthazar guide my blade." His knuckles turned white. He lifted the polearm to his chest, feeling its heaviness lighten ever-so slightly. "Kormir guide my purpose. Lend me your power, and I shall show them what it means." 

The first colocal surged inwards from his left. He met its advance likewise, head bowed and glaive ready. The beast was nearly the size of a bear and probably weighed about as much. Even with that much power behind it, the shield of force that expelled from the acolyte's body deflected it perfectly, leaving it wide open for a counter-attack. Anticipating this outcome, Dhamon already begun to swing his glaive with the course of the wind. A gash across the chest and into the shoulder. Deep, but nothing major to these things. 

He had to leap away before beast got to its feet. Stirring up his sandstorm, Dhamon braced for the inevitable attack of opportunity from the second colocal. He practically felt its saliva hit his back as he ducked away. It followed his backwards steps and covered any hope for retreat, snapping for his limbs and only getting mouthfuls of dirt. Hunger and fury made it reckless. The acolyte's defensive dance transitioned with a single step into a spinning slash. Infused with a divine power, he cut a line across the beast's face and felt his blade carve into bone. 

"How slippery is this guy? This hooded rat can't be touched!" he could barely hear the announcer's voice above the howl of blood in his ears. "And what magic is he using to swing that massive weapon so effortlessly? I've never seen anything like it!" 

The colocal he'd just wounded wavered while the second one came up from behind. The two briefly met and began to attack one another in flash of primal rage, ignoring him outright to tear chunks off one another. Dhamon pivoted his feet and rushed back into the fray while the beasts were distracted, whirling by with an opportunistic swing and cleaving off one of the winged appendages of the creatures, the part sailing off in an arc. 

When the beast whipped around to retaliate at the threat, its rival pushed its bloody face into the dirt and pounced for the acolyte. He rolled out of the way, but felt the ground shake as all that weight slammed down next to him. The crowd went wild as he narrowly dodged the rows of gnashing teeth that came afterwards. The strength of his swirling winds and the constant in-fighting between his opponents was the only thing stopping him from losing his arms and legs to those jaws. Breathlessly thanking his gods, Dhamon scrambled to his feet and repeated his vows. 

Ever since that first fight with the ghosts of Ascalon, he noticed how much heavier these blessings felt during a real fight. The act of repositioning suddenly was twice as difficult with a storm at his feet. The energy it drew from him just to keep these spells from tapering out was more than he'd anticipated back then. But it also got easier over time. He had learned how to breathe properly, to space his prayers out between the gasps that fueled his muscles. These monsters had only their instincts and rage. They didn't understand the significance of the sands that blasted at their eyes. All of Melandru's children would return to her realm to hunt and be hunted one day. Today, it was their destiny. 

Slash for slash, Dhamon carved into the two colocal. The brilliant red of their blood poured out onto the metal plating and was smeared by desperate feet. He finally got a lethal strike on one, his blade cutting clean through the soft flesh of the beast's underbelly and allowing its scarlet contents to spill. Blood loss had already slowed the other colocal down enough that he could move in on the offensive immediately after. A final flurry of strikes and misses. The glaive came down with all the force of his god onto the spine of his foe. A sickening feeling of resistance giving away, a few residual twitches, and the thump of spent bone and muscle coming down. 

"What a show!" cried the announcer in his throaty excitement. "I don't think it's entirely necessary to say out loud, but we were all expecting those colocal to be fighting over a corpse, weren't we? I don't know what kind of elementalist magic this human's been taught, but whatever it is, I can safely say that it gets results! If we learned anything from the siege of Ascalon, it's that these assholes in particular can be the feistiest of them all!" 

A sigh fell from the acolyte's mouth at the same moment he relinquished his blessings. For the first time since he walked into the arena, he glanced up at the masses and took in the enormity of the place. There was about as much unrest in the audience as he expected. Gamblers who thought they could make a quick few coins on the backs of the griffons he'd just slain. Observant charr enraged at the fact that a clearly religious human had fought and won in their arena. Peering over at the Spire warband, he saw Rammus with his arms in the air, apparently much richer than he was a few minutes ago. There was Kalla and Markus, too. And... 

...Where the fuck did Maeve go? Did she just up and leave? Couldn't take the fact that her little plan completely backfired? Hah. 

Just when Dhamon was about to triumphantly stride back through the gates into the stuffy heat he originally emerged from, the announcer suddenly cut off. It didn't sound like a technical problem, either. He paused just before he would pass under the bars and looked back into the masses. Something was clearly wrong, and if he had to venture a guess, he likely knew the source of the problem. 

It would be another half minute before the omnipresent voice reappeared. "Looks like human might be on the menu after all! For those of you who dropped a few coins from the last match, it's time to put your money where your mouth is and make it back! I just so happened to have found someone who gave a very convincing argument as to why they wanted to tear this guy's throat out, and we got time for a little aftershow! Get ready for the encore!" 

Yeah, there she is. Dhamon hoisted his polearm to rest on the concave of his shoulder and wandered back towards the center. Like spots in his vision, a blur of black danced down the distant rows of stone seats, blinking their way through the shadows to the edge of the arena until finally appearing down in the pit. Maeve had already drawn her two blades. Even from this far away, her fearsome eyes were like beacons. 

"Not even going to give me a rest?" the acolyte shouted in his slow approach. "You never fight clean, do you? That's fine by me. I'll take any chance to show your people the extent of my devotion. Thanks for the opportunity, by the way." 

"Shut up!" Maeve sauntered towards him at the same speed, sliding the flat of her dagger over the edges of her sword. "You're such a fucking pain. Every day, it's the same shit, and you never, ever shut up! I was hoping those animals would eat your fucking tongue out so that I would never have to hear you again. Turns out I should've just done the dirty work myself from the start!" 

He mouthed a prayer and willed the winds to start up around him again. "You're obsessed. You know that, right? Even the charr that can't stand faith wouldn't act in the way that you do. You go above and beyond to make sure I feel hated, even going so far as to spend a great deal of your own money to do so. What's driving you, Maeve? What about me makes you so angry?" 

The charr stopped. Ignoring his question, she straightened her back and put the ends of her pommels together in a vertical line, dagger on top with her sword pointed down. "All that time you spent worshiping false gods was a waste. You think you're stronger because of it, but what did it earn you? A sense of purpose? A couple simple spells? Your fucking 'blessings' are nothing more than thin veils of magic. When I tear that shit off of you, all that's left is a weak human with a soft mind! I'm going to show you, my warband, and everyone fucking here that truth!" 

When she pulled her weapons away from one another, a rift of smoke and sparks filled the gap. Some sort of violet energy shot up into her blades and came to a rest in the reflective sheen of the edges. She lowered her arms and her head, a predatory glint in her narrow pupils. 

Dhamon steadied his glaive and steadied his breath. "What are you waiting for, Mae? Finish me off." 

Her feet left the ground. By the time they touched back down a blink of the eye later, the charr was already upon him. He took a wide grip of his hilt and caught the strike just inches before his eyes. He didn't even have the time to knock her weapon away as the dagger followed the sword. Twisting into the force of the blow, Dhamon let himself stumble backwards, the blade failing to penetrate the thick cloth of his robe at such an angle. Knowing that the next attack was surely coming, he bent his knees and covered the retreat with a wide slash. 

It was an obvious move. Maeve knew better than to follow through the second time, instead bouncing to the side to get a flanking position. Her blades would pince into a shimmering mirage he left in his place to throw her off. Something went wrong. The pressure that had gathered behind his eyes and tingled in his fingers faltered. Her weapons somehow made contact with the illusion of dust, piercing into the very fabric of the magic and destabilizing the entire spell from just that point of contact. It tore off of him like a broken shirt and slid off the blades. By the time the acolyte could even comprehend what had happened, a clawed boot spun around and collided with his lower ribs, sending him flying. 

An instinctive roll and a supportive gust saved Dhamon's balance, but an ache flared over his left side all the same. He threw out another swing in the hopes that it would buy him some time to recover. Maeve dropped to the ground and charged forward on all fours. A blast of sand to the face warded her off for the time being, but those fiery orbs were still locked onto him. All the gales in the world could do nothing more than whip at her fur. 

She came again. Finally having found his footing, Dhamon threatened the reach of his weapon to keep her at bay. As much as she would've clearly loved to knock his polearm to the ground, the magicks that enchanted his swings were much too concentrated and quick for her to contend with. How was it that she could so effortlessly dispel his blessings with only her weapons? He'd only ever seen her do such a thing bare-handed. It's almost as if she'd figured this spell out solely to contend with him. 

Jumping through shadows, Maeve appeared behind him in a flash of motion. Another barrage of exchanges blurred past where he barely managed to keep up. Notches were carved into his hilt from the blows he deflected. Blood soaked into the slits that were cut into his robes by attacks that should've barely grazed him. By the time he had a chance to sweep back, she'd already jumped out of range of both his weapon and his storm. She was too cautious now. There weren't enough opportunities to- 

Dhamon was too slow. Her sword flashed past his neck, not slicing through his flesh but through the layer of magic just above his skin. He stumbled away with his life, but the sandstorm petered out into a spiral of bloody dust. A bellowing laugh escaped past the charr's lips, revealing how winded she truly was. 

"Simple spells!" she yelled, wiping clumps of dirt from her face. "See?! Your gods are nothing! You're fucking nothing! Just give it up already!" 

The acolyte gasped for breath. Shaking from effort, he raised his glaive once more. Droplets of sweat rolled down the sides of his face and burned in his eyes. "Hell no. I'm gonna make you work for it." 

Without the winds to aid him and impair her, there wasn't a snowball's chance in the Fissure of Woe he'd win. Already her strikes were too quick for him to dodge. She toyed with her food, bashing into him with the flats of her blades and jabbing him with the pommels. His form had gotten too sloppy, and even when he did manage to land a wayward sweep, the iron studs in her armor took most of the damage. At some point Maeve had stowed her dagger away and slashed at him with her claws instead, the talons ripping straight through his unprotected clothing. 

He needed to bounce her away. Just one last shield. Come on, one more! 

"Melandru!" Dhamon cried out, imbuing himself with all the strength he had left. 

The charr grabbed at the barrier before it had even fully formed. Smirking, she yanked the spell off of him and tossed it over her shoulder like a used handkerchief. "The name's Maeve Sunspire, human. Don't worry, you won't forget again." 

His weapon was wrested away with a simple flick of her wrist. An armored paw shot forward and slammed into his shin in the following second, easily tumbling him over. The same clawed foot came down on his chest and threatened to dig in with all her body weight. The air left his lungs. The fight left his body. Squinting, he grasped the ankle of the charr and saw her form imposed over the enormity of the Imperator's Core. He remembered where they were like a revelation. The announcer's hollering phased back into existence beneath the din of hundreds of other voices. Looks like she got what she wanted after all. 

The medics had to physically remove Maeve from standing on his chest, but that was about the extent of their work. Neither party had particularly wounded the other to the point of needing actual help. It wasn't for lack of trying, either, but landing killing blows was never the point to begin with. He had to be dragged back into the under-chambers so that the next fights could finally be underway, but you know what? He fucking learned something. This probably wasn't what his master originally meant, but there was something worthwhile to gain from this failure. 

Before Maeve could saunter off into the deeper arteries of The Bane, Dhamon called out to her. She seemed to expect this and gladly turned around, her tail swishing back and forth like a house cat about to catch a mouse. 

"What the fuck do you want? Ready to admit that you've wasted your life chasing false idols?" 

He sniffed at the hot air. The easiest way to piss her off was to tell the truth, and he certainly wasn't going to let her walk away from this completely unscathed. "Nah. I just wanted to let you know that you taught me some valuable lessons there. Now I know for sure that my master didn't waste his time sending me out here. Just wanted to thank you is all." 

The joy left her face. "Go fuck yourself." 

Joy entered his. "Good spar. We should do it again sometime."


	6. Chapter 6

The Citadel, in its industrious glory, was excessively dreary if seen after the sun had set. The black iron that made up most of the city failed to reflect the harsh glow of the streetlights, making everything appear far darker than it truly was. How could any intelligent creature grow used to life like this? Dhamon crossed his arms as he pressed on through the city, his sandals clattering against the metal floor. The Ascalonian hills were defined by their natural beauty, yet this was how they decided to repay Melandru's blessing? Perhaps the Charr just naturally preferred to fill their lungs with smog and sleep on the cold metal. 

For every charr he could see milling about, his eyes had somehow automatically caught on one he actually recognized. Maybe it was just her orange fur that stood out in the gloom, or the way she postured like she was always looking for a fight. It certainly wasn't difficult for Maeve to see him, considering he was the only human in sight for probably miles. They locked eyes for the briefest moment. She gestured her snout in the air, almost like she were beckoning to him, then turned the corner and ducked into an alley. 

Dhamon wasn't obligated to acknowledge it. He could've continued on his way without any trouble at all and returned to camp before the moon had reached its zenith. There was likely little to gain from getting involved with whatever trouble Maeve was getting herself into. Especially if it involved him. 

And yet, against his better judgement, he found himself moving towards that alley. 

This whole mission had been nothing but a series of lapses in discipline. Even now, he felt yet another poor decision creep up on him as he peered down the shadowy passage. Rammus' words echoed in the back of his mind, somehow louder than his master's cautious voice. There was no better time to make mistakes than in youth. Perhaps he'd have to confess to this string of sins at some point and bear the brunt of his punishment. For now, though, no pious heart could hold out against a curiosity this strong. 

The alley itself wasn't much to behold. It must have been the back entrances to several facilities, at least judging from the clear lack of use and the huge garbage receptacles lining it. As Dhamon crept further in, he bowed his head and recited a prayer to shield him in the event that Maeve was attempting to assassinate him in cold blood. However likely that was, he still wouldn't put it past her either way. 

The ambush he couldn't help but anticipate never came. Instead, he found an open door near the very end of the alley. It was too dark to see clearly, but there was definitely someone waiting inside. Dhamon committed to the mistake and pressed on through into a small, relatively abandoned storage room. To which Maeve then, of course, slipped behind him and slammed the door shut with an resounding bang. The only light to see by was cast by a pair of shutter windows, sending horizontal lines from distant white lights across the back wall. 

"Ah, so you are trying to murder me," Dhamon mused, not wanting to let on that this was possibly the worst spot he could've chosen to try to fend off an assault. 

The charr hummed. "After I'm done with you, you'll wish that was what happened." 

It didn't appear that Maeve was immediately armed, aside from the obvious claws, fangs, horns, and general savagery that every individual of her race possessed. In fact, it was probably foolish to have looked for a weapon at all. The acolyte backed himself into the corner and raised his hands together at his chest. Even without any nearby earth to support him, there were plenty of ways he could still survive. 

Maeve chuckled to herself. Her clawed toes clacked against the steel as she slowly approached. "Oh, put your pathetic tricks away. I led you in here to talk." 

"Talk? Somehow I don't get the impression that you're the diplomatic type," Dhamon said, not budging an inch from his stance. 

"Then I guess you've really gotten to know me, huh?" As soon as the charr was close, she slammed a hand into the wall beside him and leaned in disconcertingly close--so close that her ale-ridden breath washed across his face. What little light filtered in through the shuttered windows highlighted both her cytrine eyes and her pearly fangs. "Talking can be part of it, but you know must know what I really want from you by now. I want to get even." 

Even with a predator's maw just inches from his face, Dhamon held fast. "Was winning against me in The Bane not good enough for you?" 

A disgruntled huff blasted him in the eyes. "No! No, it wasn't! And that's what I don't fucking get!" Maeve pulled away, snarling at nowhere in particular. Maybe at herself? "I was so damn sure that this feeling would pass the second I wiped your face on that floor! For a couple hours afterwards, it worked! But then I just kept thinking about how fucking smug you were, even while in the dirt, and it came right the fuck back! I just didn't get it. I clearly won, so why didn't I feel like I won?!" 

"Perhaps yo-" 

"Shut the fuck up with your quips, skelkbait," she immediately interrupted him. "I'm being figurative. I know exactly why I didn't feel satisfied now, and it's because I never beat you at your own game. You lost the fight, but you're still prancing around in that fucking dress and praying to some mud whore and pretending like you're made out of goddamn stone." 

Dhamon didn't budge as Maeve brought a claw up to his neck. She had expected a holy barrier to be there, so rather than just attempting to rip into his throat outright, she gingerly dug her fingers into the fabric of the enchantment and tore it away with ease. He could raise another in a moment's notice, but there was still gloating to be done. She wouldn't kill him just yet. 

"See that?" the charr hissed at him. "That's what I mean! You're always hiding behind fucking something!" 

"Naturally, considering I'm surrounded by beasts these days." He tried to push her hand away, but she grabbed his wrist in a flash and shoved his whole arm into the wall with it. Still, he wouldn't let himself be intimidated. "I'm not going to abandon my faith for any reason." 

Maeve rolled her eyes. "I don't give a shit about what you believe in! I give a shit that you're constantly using it to pretend to be high and mighty! I've seen humans. They're melodramatic and loud. They screech at each other and they screech at things they don't like. They piss and shit and cry at everything. And what the fuck are you? Some kinda god-sent sentinel who simply decided they had no emotions? No, you're fucking not. You're a goddamn human as much as I'm a goddamn charr, and I'm never gonna win unless I prove that." 

There was something distinctly sinister about the way she said that. Dhamon had thought that Maeve was the most predictable of all the charr he had met, but with just that one sentence her intentions were back to being unknown. If not violence, what could her solution possibly even be? Flickers of uncertainty filled up the spaces in his chest beneath where repose was meant to be. 

Something made Maeve grin an evil grin. "You look scared. How's it feel to actually react to something for once?" 

Shit. An attempt to wrest his hand free of her grip ended with both wrists being pinned to the wall behind him. Maeve took the opportunity to bring her face even closer to his, her expression that of primal satisfaction. 

"You're not getting away that easily, you bastard. I'm going to figure out what makes you tick, and then I'm gonna pick at it over and over until I've finally won. You got that? I'm gonna do more than tear your pansy magic away. I'm taking down the whole fucking act." 

Swearing internally, Dhamon desperately searched for a way to escape. Something he could manipulate with his legs. Something that could distract the monster that held him in place. "Just how do you intend on doing that, Maeve? Are you just going to beat me to a pulp until you feel better, you goddamn animal?" 

"No," she said with a vicious giggle. "Worse. I'm gonna fucking dominate you. You're chaste or whatever, right? Not for much longer." 

"I'm-.." he stopped. In processing what the charr had just said, disbelief mingled with both confusion and relief. The acolyte laughed to himself, but his heart had picked up the pace considerably. "Dominate? Thank goodness. For a second there, I thought you weren't nearly as predictable as I had made you out to be, but I'm glad to know that you just turned to a different form of violence anyway. It's almost relieving, to be honest." 

That got under her skin. She wanted to see him squirm and crawl, and the best she could get with her trump card was a chuckle and a sigh of relief. The Charr pushed him even harder into the cold metal, his wrists surely getting bruised from the weight. 

"That's it. THAT'S IT! I've had it with that shit-eating attitude!" 

His arms were freed for a split second, but before he could do anything to get away, Maeve had gotten a good grip on his robe and yanked at the straps as hard a she could. Given that she was a creature of sheer muscle, Dhamon found himself getting whipped back and forth like a rag-doll. He managed to speak a prayer and bounce her away with an aura of force, but not before his armor had been shredded at the bonds. The acolyte scrambled to his feet, hopping atop a crate to put any bit of distance between him and the charr. Unfortunately, the top half of his robe fell to the wayside and hung sadly from his belt. 

"What's wrong, Maeve? That eager to lay your hands on a human? What would your warband think of such degeneracy, I wonder?" 

With her ass thoroughly planted to the ground, she snarled as loudly as she could. "Shut the fuck up! Shut up! I'm doing it to beat you! I can't fucking get on with my life unless I do!" 

She tried to lunge for him, but there were plenty of other islands of boxes to hop away to. All the clutter and carnage her graceless scramble caused just made it easier for him to evade her. In a small space like this, his agility won out. 

"And you're so obsessed, too!" Dhamon continued, taking every opportunity just to stoke the flames. "I bet if I left for Divinity's Reach now, you'd spend every waking moment thinking about me. I just can't help but laugh at the irony!" 

"You fucking-!" Maeve half-gasped, half-growled. She already seemed winded in spite of all that endurance she'd expressed in the past. "Stop talking! Don't look at me with that goddamn smirk on your face!" The charr stopped trying to pursue him and instead leaned their upper body on one of the dented crates, suddenly way more pathetic than usual. 

The correct choice would've been to walk away now. He could leave, forget this ever happened, and go on with his life. Strangely enough, he didn't want to stop. This was much more exciting than any fight could ever hope to be. Nothing in his faith could have taught him how to to act in a situation like this. Whether Maeve realized it or not, she had already accomplished what she had set out to do. 

Of course, it was understandably much more amusing while she was the one in the spotlight. 

"Why are you breathing so heavily?" Dhamon asked as he confidently hopped down from his vantage. "Is it just that hard keep yourself together? Perhaps you could learn a thing or two from my discipline. Then again, I suppose it's already against my teachings to be mocking you like this. That means you've won, then! I'm acting like a human now. Are you happy?" 

"...Fucking bitch!" Maeve snarled. She pounced at the acolyte again, but this time he didn't even bother to move out of the way. Nearly all her weight came bearing down on him as they both tumbled down. His divine shield threatened to push her right back with the same amount of force, but the charr opened her mouth and chomped near his shoulder, breaking straight through the simple spell. Wisps of energy swam through her teeth as she came down for another bite, this time on his bare shoulder. 

Pain shot across Dhamon's frame. He flinched, seizing up beneath the beast's mighty form, grabbing her by the horns to wrench her away. There was a pause. The shock of the pain subsided, revealing how little damage had actually been done. Her fangs broke the skin and pressed into the flesh, but it wasn't any worse than a hound's bite would've been, and her jaw easily had the strength to crush through if she wanted to. His hunch turned out to be right. 

Maeve licked at the fresh font of blood with her barbed tongue, which stung way more than the initial bite. Another sigh of exasperation left her nose and washed over him. "What the fuck is your problem? Scream! Fight! Get me the hell off you! I'm raping you, dammit! Humans hate shit like that!" 

"You're raping me?" he said in a low voice. "You didn't even want to hurt me right then. If this were a fight, you wouldn't have thought twice to chew straight through my shoulder. For the one-track minded beast you are, I didn't even know you had the capacity to be gentle at all!" 

"I hate you," Maeve spat the words into his face, sending another waft of alcohol over him. His whole face had gotten so hot that her breath nearly felt cold. In fact, his whole body was burning by this point. Between some combination of the charr's body heat being pressed into him, the blush that had erupted across his skin, and the stuffiness of this storage shed, he was starting to sweat. All the weight from her frame just barely not crushing his torso seemed to convince the heat to congregate in lower places. 

Perhaps Melandru still guided him in other ways. Dhamon tried to reach for the charr's face, but she grappled his arms once more and put him in yet another pin. He didn't put up a fight. 

"I hate you so goddamn much," she continued to say. What was she waiting for? "You make me so fucking angry. I can't be around you and not want to crush your head like a fucking grape, you pompous, smug bitch. Nobody fucking cares about you." 

Even his breathing had started to waver. The one thing his master had always pressed into his head that he should always maintain, the most important and vital part of his entire martial art, fell to the wayside. It was too exciting to contain it. "I think you care." 

"I don't fucking care!" 

"You know, I think humans might even call what you have love." 

Maeve yowled like a predator and moved to land a killing blow on his neck. Intuitively, Dhamon raised his chin, and let the charr's teeth drag across the surface of his skin, not even breaking it. His whole body flexed to get away from the mortal danger, but it sent shivers of carnal pleasure down his spine all the same. He could tell how badly she wanted to go rougher. Her jaw quivered with barely-restrained lust, traveling out her canines and sending the message directly into his sensitive skin. All the while, she huffed and gasped and sputtered into him. 

"I didn't really realize it until now," Dhamon dared to speak. "Maybe, just maybe, you're kinda cute when you're this worked up." 

Her whole jaw clamped down on the base of his neck. The vibrations of a growl tickled a bit. 

"What? Don't like being called cute? Is that not what you were going for?" 

The charr shifted and stirred as she lifted her fangs away. Bringing his arms straight up so that she could hold him in place with a single claw, Maeve used her newly freed hand to start trying to tear the rest of his clothes off, but not before running her talons over his side and making him flinch. 

"I'm going to fucking kill you," she whispered beneath his chin. Somehow, the threat seemed more like a sweet nothing than anything. Maybe that's just how Charr did it? Or perhaps this particular one didn't know anything else other than death threats. 

Fiddling with complicated clothing using only one hand, and that one hand being 60% claw, was apparently too difficult of a task for her to handle. She swore under her breath multiple times about the puny size of human buckles, then found some more profanities to attribute to her own bulky leather armor. With her increased frustration came even less success. 

"You look like you're having some trouble there," Dhamon said with a grin. 

"I'm going to cut your tongue out," Maeve promptly replied. Another couple seconds passed before she finally gave up and released him from the pin. "Don't fucking move. I will slit your goddamn throat." 

Just because he had use of his arms didn't mean that he could do anything about the nigh four-hundred pound monster sitting on his legs. He watched with bated breath as Maeve finally stripped off her upper armor and let it fall to the wayside, her naked chest fully revealed. That would be a big deal for a human, but the Charr had little in the way private bits to conceal, and less still with the added benefit of fur. Still, though, his heart jumped up into his throat all the same when she sat up and let the horizontal lines of light trace the edges of her formly silhouette. 

Dhamon couldn't help himself. His hands rose on their own, apparently oblivious to the gap in species, and felt the charr up like he would a lover. 

"Hey!" Maeve motioned to smack him away, but stopped halfway through the movement. He continued to run his fingers through her bronze fur, admiring the curvature of her torso even if there wasn't particularly much to grab onto. The dense muscles that rippled just beneath the hair, while so distinctly masculine that he might've been opposed to it otherwise, seemed incredibly attractive in the moment. So attractive, in fact, that he craned his back just to reach more places to explore. 

The charr herself almost appeared suspended in animation, her hands limp in the air as his touch seemed to hypnotize her. His fingers traced over old scars and followed them along her contours. Somewhere along his adventure, he found tiny nubs hidden beneath the fur on the sides of her belly. She tried to contain her gasps every time he moved his fingers over those spots. Of course those would be there. It made sense that they would be built similarly to cats, after all. 

Maeve finally came to her senses and slapped his hands away, hard. "Fuck off! Stop distracting me!" 

Rubbing at the compounded bruises on his forearms, Dhamon huffed. "You like being touched, don't you? I bet you don't get much action with that personality of yours. Must be nice to get some for a change, even if it is with a human." 

Rather than just snapping at him like usual, Maeve took the leggings she'd just removed from herself and smothered his face with them. Accepting that fate didn't really work when he began to suffocate. Grabbing at the rough-hewn fabric, Dhamon struggled to get a breath that wasn't mostly musk and sweat. When he was finally allowed to take a breath of that fresh, stale warehouse air, a new scent had been added to the mix. It stuck to the inside of his nose even worse than the armor did. 

"Stay still," the charr reiterated as she shifted out from over top him. A pair of claws eagerly fiddled with his belt, yanking him to and fro with no regard for his own comfort in the matter. He did start to notice the pulsating ache of the bite wound on his shoulder along with the stickiness that it leaked. It wasn't nearly enough to stop him, but there were definitely going to be scars after this. 

After a great deal more effort than he would've had to exert himself, Maeve yanked the bottom of his robe down his legs and tossed it across the room like it had insulted her mother. The tent he'd already pitched in his undergarments was more honest than he would've cared to admit. It was too dark for him to see, but perhaps her bestial eyes were keen enough to see the stain he'd put in them just from anticipation. 

"You fucking bitch," she hissed. "You're into this just as much as I am! How can you fucking talk when you're bursting out of your goddamn pants?" 

"Oh, I'm sorry. I forgot you were gonna try to rape me. I'll tone it down a bit for you so that it's less consensual." 

Another article of clothing slammed into his airway convinced him to stop making quips for the time being. He felt talons poke into his upper thigh as she stripped him of his final line of protection. A sliver of indignity jabbed through his ribs as his member suddenly bounced upwards the very moment it was free. The shame was quickly overridden by the needy warmth that washed over him seconds later. 

"What in the Khan-Ur is that?" Maeve flicked at his cock, making him tense up almost immediately. A snicker left her mouth. "Fuckin' weird." 

"It's rude not to share, you know. Don't judge unless I get a chance to-" 

Dhamon couldn't finish his sentence. The force of the open-clawed palm that came down on his chest knocked the wind straight out of his lungs. His vision filled with a row of bared teeth. 

"No, shut up. I'm done letting you get the best of me. We're already doing this, so I don't give a shit what you have to say anymore. You're my bitch now. I'm going to do whatever the hell I want and you're gonna let me." 

She wasted no time positioning herself over him. While one hand threatened to tear a hole in his lungs, the other apparently went to work a bit lower, at least judging from the huffs of pleasure that spilled over her tongue and onto his face. Her knuckles often bumped against his cock in the process, sending waves through his body at the slightest bit of attention. Finally, having decided that enough was enough, Maeve aligned the base of his shaft and slid down. 

The both of them gasped at the same time. Their hips clashed together on impulse, which definitely hurt him more than it did her. It couldn't be helped with how tight she was. It was surprising--unprecedented, even. The grip that she had on his member was absolute, her internal muscles flexing around it in a white-hot embrace. How could such a massive creature even be this narrow? Actual felines weren't known for their size, after all, but this was... 

Incredible. 

"Fucking goddamn," Maeve sputtered out, both her hands now gripping at his shoulders. He couldn't have agreed with the sentiment more, but there was hardly any breath to waste. 

As she started to straddle him, it became readily apparent just how wet she had been. There was simply no way she could've slid it in so quickly if not for that. A cold slickness had already coated the base of his shaft, and the fur that surrounded her privates was even worse. Sloppy sounds filled the air as quickly as their labored breathing did. Every time she slammed herself into his pelvis, the pleasure somehow overwrote the obvious pain. It didn't quite distract him from the talons that had started digging into his flesh, though. 

The initial jolt of ecstasy eventually started to pass before long. Dhamon's hips wanted nothing more than to thrust upwards, but the range of motion was simply too short. It was clear that these simple movements weren't going to be enough. He tried to get some leverage in the matter, squirming beneath the claws and the weight of the charr to little effect. 

Maeve seemed to notice this and came down on him with extra force. It hurt like a bitch, sure, but a couple more bruises added to the tally didn't matter much at all, and his heart was racing way faster than his thoughts. Working his way up her arms, he grappled on and fought as hard as he could for a better position beneath the beast. 

"Stop moving you little shit!" her voice broke as she clamored to contain him. 

In a sudden inhuman burst of strength and lust, Dhamon somehow managed to push the charr away enough to slip out from underneath her. A flurry of limbs and muscles closed in on him almost as soon as he'd found a bit of freedom. Instead of trying to get into a fight he couldn't win, the acolyte accepted that he couldn't get away and tackled Maeve instead. It was like slamming his body into a mountain. He wrapped an arm around her neck, buried his face into her opposite shoulder, then sent his other hand southwards to finally explore what he'd been missing. 

The charr clearly didn't expect that exchange to go the way it did. A storm of snarls bounced around the room as she attempted to wrestle the acolyte off of her and regain control. Not even the teeth that threatened to bear down on his neck could force him to release the hold. All the while, he freely explored the curvature of her back, down to the surprisingly feminine curve of her ass, and around into the cavern of heat and moisture between her thighs. She hesitated for the briefest moment when his fingers slipped in, a shudder running down her back. 

As an act of retribution, one of the claws jabbing into his back traveled downwards and tried to grip at his cock. Of course, Dhamon wasn't about to let those fucking daggers anywhere near his goods for any reason. His adventurous hand had been demoted to thwarting that attempt, all the while thrusting his hips so that there was no space between the two of them. Just the feeling of her fur along his shaft was enough to pull a gasp from his throat. 

It was impossible to keep on even grounds with a monster like this forever. He was forced to let Maeve's hand free before long, but he had already earned the position he so dearly craved. In a flash of motion, Dhamon grabbed hold of his member and forced the charr's legs open with his own. He buckled his hips one final time and found the opening between them. Maeve moaned in his ear, but tried to play it off as a growl. 

For all the training and physical regimes Dhamon had adhered to, there was no exercise that could've prepared his body for this. It was exhausting just to get to this point. It felt like he'd been moving boulders this whole time, and the wide array of injuries weren't making it any easier. That fatigue was always there. Yet, when he started to fuck Maeve proper, something bestial smothered it entirely. She had been a thorn in his side for this entire goddamn deployment, and she was right. Fighting like warriors couldn't have possibly scratched this itch between them. 

The power struggle came to a stand-still, mostly because Maeve was too preoccupied to do anything about it. Their bodies smashed together in a tenuous harmony that felt like it could've been broken at any moment. Keeping this beast satisfied was hard enough, even worse when her claws spasmed and pulled up and over his back. Frustration began to mount, among other things. Using that anger, Dhamon found the energy to lift his head and chomp down on the wall of a shoulder he'd been pressed into. 

"Ssshit..!" she couldn't contain herself this time. Her tail could be heard thudding against the floor in the background. "G-go harder!" 

"I'm working on it, woman!" the acolyte managed to say with his mouth full of fur. His lungs burned for oxygen, yet every breath he took was filled with her scent. It had gotten extremely pleasant over the last few minutes. He clamped down harder, curled his nails into her back for revenge, and pumped as hard as his spent muscles allowed. 

Maeve was forced to give up the hard exterior she worked so hard to maintain. Nearly every exhalation that left her maw and washed over his neck was either a moan or a squeak. Sharp, twitching limbs curled around him and left their marks. She squeezed even tighter around his cock with every thrust, as if trying to milk him for all it was worth. Concentrating on the pain was starting to lose its effectiveness in his resistance. 

The charr hissed into him. "Hahh... How the fuck do humans go for so long? I can't-!" 

Her grip was starting to weaken. When he pushed on her, she didn't push back nearly as much. There was ample room to slide further down and get an even better angle to thrust. As a result, his hands went lower and found the curves of her waist. The way her ass twitched and tensed, she had to have been on the precipice for some time now. Damn bitch was holding out on him. Like hell he was going to let himself lose this battle. 

But the end was approaching, and it was coming fast. Dhamon couldn't keep going as fast as he was without spilling over himself. Whatever supernatural force possessed him to forget about the burning exhaustion wasn't going to last forever, either. There was no getting around it. The molten pressure that had built up couldn't be contained any longer. It overtook him in one overwhelming burst, toes curled and taint flexed. He bit down on Maeve again just to try and stifle his whimpering shout. His heartbeat howled in his ears as his whole body shuddered from the pulses. 

In the wake of the sensation, Maeve curled around him and started to laugh. There was no time for an afterglow. Her weight came down on him again, rolling him over so that she was once again on top, yet never letting his cock slip free. 

"I'm not fucking done yet," the charr muttered as she pinned him down once more. She straddled him and humped with all her might. Whatever pleasure was left from the orgasm was squeezed out in an instant, drowned absolutely by an unstoppable flood of discomfort that was much worse than the pain. Her inner walls scraped up and down his length like sandpaper. There was not an ounce of lustful strength left his body. All Dhamon could do was writhe, tears in the corners of his eyes while a massive hand covered his mouth. 

What must have been half a minute felt like an eternity. Maeve finally succumbed to a fit of quivering and moans, her entire silhouette shaking uncontrollably. A stand of drool fell from her wheezing mouth onto Dhamon's face, but he hardly noticed beyond the agony that was how tightly she squeezed. When the charr lifted away and slumped to the side while she gasped for air, it was like a void was left in her wake. His extremities tingled, but everything had gone numb, and he might as well have been dreaming with the shattered state of his thoughts. 

Time passed. It didn't matter. Neither of them could quite catch their breath by this point. The pools of bodily fluids had started to dry and coagulate by the time Dhamon regained even half of his composure. This was a special kind of tired. The scratches and puncture wounds didn't exactly help, either. How much blood did he end up losing from this? Probably more than he wanted to know. 

"...Satisfied?" he managed to say. 

Maeve seemed think about it for a moment. "Maybe," she said, her voice softer than he had ever thought possible. 

There was an element of ridiculousness that had only now just started to sink in. He just had sex with a charr. It was so strange that even comparing it to the ideals he broke, there wasn't much shame to be mustered up from it. The wise men and saints who preached these morals didn't exactly have something like this in mind when they philosophized them. 

Dhamon reached over in the darkness and found one of the two massive hands that had been antagonizing him this whole time. Maeve didn't bother stopping him, so he settled into her palm and his laced fingers between hers. Despite the fact that this bitch had been nothing but trouble, this felt very right. 

"The fuck are you doing?" she whispered, already half-asleep. 

"Something human."


	7. Chapter 7

The red irises only seemed to grow more plentiful as the days went on. Their scarlet bloom could be seen creeping even into the shadow of the Northern Wall, braving the long hours of darkness and threat of falling bricks without a care in the world. Birds flitted from branch to mighty branch, busily filling the meadows with their songs and having their fill on the plentiful butterflies. It was said that virtually every season in Ascalon was a beautiful one, and Dhamon was beginning to believe it. Perhaps one day, he should find a plot of land and settle down in these parts. 

...Of course, that's probably what the original Ascalonians thought when they colonized this place. 

The acolyte retraced his steps back down that old dusty road, placing his feet in the steps of both giant machines and mechanically-gifted giants. Though he hadn't been here long, he couldn't help but grow fond of it. The marks of industry weren't so permanent. Even the smog blew away from the mountains some days. 

When he came to the base of the hill that held that tiny military base, his heart went through a far different range of emotions than the first time. The feeling of displacement was but a flicker in comparison to what it once was. There was a weight to this place, too. A sense of having learned much, like the feeling one might get if they visited their old school after several years out in the world. He would even go as far as to say that he had somehow grown fond of this metallic eyesore. The smell of blast powder wasn't so bad once you got used to it. 

Kalla was guarding the gate. She sleepily regarded him for a few moments, blinking as if he was a dream to be dispelled. "Huh? Din't you leave hours ago? What're you doing back here?" 

"The caravan leaves in a couple more hours," Dhamon said as he wandered on in. "I forgot something, so I came back. I'll be gone after this." 

Shrugging, the grey cat went back to her wide-eyed snooze. "You humans. Always forgettin' shit all th' time..." 

The only one out and about at this time would be Rammus, since Markus was likely asleep. Dhamon was tempted to salute the legionnaire as he had seen other charr do, but pushed the thought away. It would've been funny, sure, but that was a boundary he wasn't certain he wanted to cross. 

"Psh. Forget something?" Rammus immediately guessed, hardly looking up from the task of crafting new mortar rounds. 

"Yep." 

"I bet you did." He chuckled. "Maeve, right?" 

Dhamon stopped in place. He shot a glare at the charr, whose face was stuck in a smug expression even while he concentrated on his work. "What do you mean by that?" 

"I'm thinkin' you underestimated just how organized the charr are. Since you're technically my responsibility as legionnaire, it's my job to babysit you. That way if you do anything messy the tribunes have a way of blaming me for it. I got a copy of your receipts. One for a tailor, who happened to fix quite a bit of rips and tears in your robe. One for the medic you saw about those highly specific wounds all over your torso." 

Fuck. Shit. Dammit. How did- 

Rammus immediately cracked up at the mortified face Dhamon made. "I still can't believe humans can just turn red! Cracks me up every time." 

"I- I-" the acolyte stuttered out. 

"Just draggin' you through the mud a bit," the charr said with a wink. "Lucky for you, we were almost put in an Ash Legion fahrar. I happen to be very good at keeping secrets. And you know, Maeve's been in very good spirits lately. Hasn't stabbed any inanimate objects with her knife all morning. I just think it's funny since I've never seen her hate anyone as much as she hates you. Who am I to judge how this stuff works, eh?" 

This was already too much for him. Dhamon turned ahead and sighed, trying his best to shake off the blush before the important part. "I'm just gonna...I'm going to go do what I came here to do." 

"Wouldn't mind if you visited, human. Things tend to be much less dull with you starting trouble." With that, the legionnaire returned his attention to the mortar shells for good. 

The Northern Wall looked as dull and empty as it normally did. Nothing about its enormity compared to the striking molten eyes that watched it. Maeve's four ears twitched as the acolyte approached. She didn't turn to look at him. 

"What the fuck are you doing back here?" she snarled out in her usual way. Some things never change. 

He snickered, flattening his robe to muster up the rest of his composure. "What? Do charr never have time to say goodbye?" 

"They don't need to. They're not pussies like your race." 

"Well I happen to be a part of that pussy race, so I've stopped by to say goodbye before I left." 

Maeve finally turned her head. She blinked at him like he were some animal that had gotten loose from its pen, so full of disappointment and annoyance. An obstacle she couldn't just shank or ignore. "Alright. Goodbye. You can fuck off now." 

"Come on, Maeve. You know there's gonna be more to it than that. Humans are stupid and sentimental. They have to wrap things up in ways that they won't regret thinking back on." Dhamon crossed his arms, a grin creeping across his face. Oh, he was about to regret something real bad. One final fuck-you to someone only he could give it to. 

"Burn me! Fine, whatever! You're like a rash that never goes away!" After a great deal of hesitance, the charr angled herself towards him the full way. She tilted her head. "What's it take to get you out of my fur once and for all?" 

The acolyte glanced behind him at the gate, then gestured her closer. She glared at him. The moment dragged on long enough that she relented and took another step forward. He raised his head. "You forgot something the other night, bitch." 

Before she could react, Dhamon reached forward, grabbed the (thankfully still rather short) charr by the armor straps, and attempted to plant a kiss directly on her mouth. It ended up being more on her fangs than anything. 

Maeve didn't know how to react. Stunned, she just stood there and took it for a good two seconds before the rest of her caught up, by which point she had growled painfully loud and seized him up into her claws. The same teeth that he'd just kissed suddenly pincered the front and back of his neck, threatening to snap down and kill him instantly. The acolyte grinned wider the longer he was forced into that position. He was very satisfied, and still very much alive. 

The charr released him and recoiled in one motion, wiping her mouth on her sleeves with a whole slew of exaggerated gagging noises. "What the fuck was that?! Why did you- Why?!" 

"Just returning the favor from the time you tried to forcibly fuck me," he replied with a grunt. "You reap what you sow, Maeve. Shouldn't have laid with a human if you couldn't deal with the consequences." 

"Augh, bitch! Fucking humans!" When Maeve eventually decided to recover from the horrible experience--realizing that shouting so loud would alert the rest of her warband--she just glared at him so intensely that his head would've exploded had she been a mesmer. "And you're an idiot, too! You hadn't even put that damn shield up to bounce me away! I should've just killed you when I had the chance! What's wrong? Did your petty god finally disown you for being a fucking blasphemer?" 

"Melandru is my body as I am her voice. Absolutely not." Dhamon exhaled out his nose, attempting to gain control over his beating heart once more. He realized that he kinda...didn't want that moment to end as quickly as it did. "You know as well as I do that I didn't bless myself on purpose. I just wanted to feel that loving embrace of yours again." 

She twisted away and stared off into the distance, a clawed hand still over her mouth. "Damn! I knew I shouldn't have gotten anywhere close to a human! You fucks are so clingy and emotional! Worst mistake I've ever made, I swear." 

Dhamon brushed himself off, rubbed at the impressions of the teeth that had been jammed into his neck flesh, and started on a path around the charr. "Well, now that I got that out of my system, I think I'll be heading out proper now. Guess we'll probably never see each other again. Bye." 

He made it about four steps away before a massive hand closed around his shoulder. It was likely no accident that it was his bad shoulder, making the acolyte wince in pain as he was stopped. 

"Listen here, dumbass. Let me educate you." Maeve dug her fingers into his bandages as she twisted him around. "You seen our faces? We got teeth. Human kissing ain't gonna work. If you're gonna be a huge pain in my ass, this is what it looks like." 

It was as if a coin had flipped sides from heads to tails. Her claws loosened and dropped to his upper arms. Careful not to immediately gore him on her horns, she lowered her head pulled him past to where her neck had rested just above his less-abused shoulder. Then the charr turned so that the side of her face was pressed into his shoulder blades. They were entwined like that for a short while, but it felt like it lasted a century. Her fur was very warm. 

The coin flipped once more. Her tenderness was ripped away, as was his whole body. Maeve pushed the human and turned to angrily stare at the Northern Wall once more. She twitched her whiskers and gave a low growl. "Now get the fuck out of my sight." 

Dhamon scaled down the side of that hill with a new tightness in his chest. It was as if a hundred different emotions that had been happening side-by-side suddenly decided to converge into one. He didn't really want to think about it right now. There were too many things he wasn't sure he wanted to know about himself. What had happened happened, and it didn't get much clearer now that he'd finished up all the business he wanted to in Ascalon. It was a long enough ride home that maybe he'd have time to...sort this out. 

The fields of red iris gently swayed in the mountain breeze. He looked at the scarlet and thought only of cytrine.


End file.
